It's Not Easy
by stargirl0507
Summary: "She would have been very, very dead if we hadn't had the only natural healer on the planet on our campus." Wait, what? Warren/OC. Canon compliant with X1-X3 and Origins.
1. Experiments and Tools

_A baby's wail reverberates off the concrete walls._

"_We can't keep it here. Its powers are as yet undeveloped." The speaker is a tall, thin man with thick glasses and receding hair. "The suppressant appears viable. The subject is on it now."_

_"What if it doesn't have powers?" The rough reply comes from a smaller, squat man, bearded and with an air of authority. _

"_You joking? It's the product of class four and five mutant parents. This kid is the jackpot—unexpected, to be sure, but the grand prize of the evolutionary lottery," the thin man reassures him, rubbing his receding hairline with a handkerchief._

_The squat man is not convinced. "But its powers haven't manifested."_

"_No."_

"_Our employers have neither the time nor the energy to look after an infant. Foster it out—say the suppressant is for a heart condition. I don't care, but don't lose track of her. Wolverine's child—imagine what it could do! You have your assignment, Doctor."_

_The smaller man leaves, with barely a glance at the subject of their conversation. _

_The doctor looks down at the experiment. With dark, wild hair and green eyes flecked with silver, she has the face of an angel.. Yet he cannot afford to think of her—it, he tells himself fiercely—as a child. _

"_It's a tool. Only a tool," he murmurs to himself, and shudders. "A tool that could kill us all."_

_Sighing, he pulls out his cell phone and punches in a number. Pacing, he glances at the now-silent child. A faint, tinny voice echoes from the speakers._

"_Hello?" _

"_Marian. I have a child for you." _

"_A child? How—"_

"_No questions. All the papers, birth certificate, everything in order. And a child to raise. Everything you wanted. But no questions." _

"_But—"_

"_Marian!"_

"_All right. When?"_

"_As soon as possible. Tomorrow?"_

"_Yes! Jim, of course! But—"_

_He flips the phone shut._

* * *

"Jim!"

The doctor steps off the helicopter and thrusts the carrier forward. "Here she is," he says stiffly.

He hands the woman a sheaf of documents. "Everything's in order; you'll receive a monthly stipend of two thousand."

Her fingers close reluctantly over the folder. Tucking it into her purse, she picks up the baby from its carrier and cuddles it close. The child coos and gurgles as she skims her nose over its full head of dark hair.

"I didn't take her for the money, Jim, you know that."

His voice softens. "I know, Mari. But this child is—is special."

"Aren't all children?" She looks up from where her face is buried in the baby's chest. Her brown eyes search his. Uncomfortable under the scrutiny of eyes that see too much, he looks down and shuffles his feet.

"Yes…but this child is—different. She's got a heart condition—her parents didn't want her."

Her eyes widen. "How could anyone not want someone like you?" she murmurs to the now-dozing baby. "What could you possibly have done to anyone?"

He shifts again. "She's done nothing, Marian. But she is different. Remember this—if you do nothing else, remember this!—she must take this pill," he proclaims, holding up the small green bottle, "once a day. Every day. Without fail."

"All right." She returns to cooing at the sleeping baby.

"_Every day_, Marian! She could die if you don't." He shifts uneasily at lying to her; but this child is too important to both him and his employers to lose too soon. _However, _he thinks savagely,_ we have very different reasons._

"Of—of course, Jim." Marian, confused, looks down at the child again. "What's her name?"

Softening, he replies, "She doesn't have one—I thought I'd let you choose."

"How about Aimee?"

"Aimee?"

"It means beloved."

"Perfect, then." He looks down at the child. _No! Not a child—a tool. It's Marian's child. My tool._


	2. Loss

_Fifteen years later_

"Aimee! Get up, or you'll be late!"

"Mrmph…" I groaned, and pulled my pillow back over my head.

"AIMEE!"

Still groggy, I opened one sleep-encrusted eye and glance at my alarm. _Crap! _"Coming, Mom!"

Muttering about the stupidity of alarm clocks, I rooted through my drawers for a suitably clean shirt. Grabbing yesterday's jeans, yanking my well-loved Houston Cougars T-shirt over my head and stuffing my feet into ratty sneakers, I thundered down the stairs, grabbing my backpack and clarinet.

I skidded into the kitchen, watching my occasionally absent-minded mother bustle around our round kitchen table. She was obviously not firing on all cylinders yet, because she'd poured me a cup of coffee. Sighing, I selected bagel from the breadbasket, smeared it with cream cheese, and stuffed it nearly whole down my throat.

Marian didn't berate me for my lack of manners, which told me more than anything else how distracted she was. But then, she was attempting to pour syrup on her toast; I doubted my eating habits were the first thing on her mind. I gently removed the syrup bottle from her hand and asked, "Busy work week, mom?"

Outside the house, my mom was cutthroat tax lawyer Marian Levine—whose office was apparently mired in work.

She looked at me tiredly. "I'm sorry. The Palmer case is going nowhere, and David Simms, the intern, is leaving next week for college, and—"

"Mom. Chill a little. Everything's going to be fine—it always is," I chided my mother gently. Marian was absent-minded, but she worked too hard; her waifish figure wasn't natural so much as her habitual meal-skipping due to too much work. She professed she loved it; honestly, I didn't see the appeal.

She sighed. "I know." She stood abruptly, looking at her watch. "And I have to go—you too. Take your pill, though, honey."

I wrinkled my nose. The infamous bottle of white pills stood in the medicine cabinet. The huge capsules tasted awful and stuck in my throat, but my mother forced me to take them every day, without fail. I wasn't even sure exactly what it did, but Marian had pitched a fit the few times I'd tried to circumvent her gimlet eye. "Fine."

She kissed my forehead. "OK, honey. Gotta go!"

As she bustled out the door, I cleared the table and put away the much-abused syrup bottle, smiling. I heard Marian's Lexus whirr out of the driveway as I put the plates in the dishwasher.

The door crashed open, making me jump. "Dang it, Seth!" I yelled across the house. "You're going to break the door one of these days!"

"Aimee, I've been waiting outside for five minutes! We're gonna be late, and Mr. Cortez will murder us!"

"Fine, fine." The door slammed shut. I grinned at the trace of British—or Irish, as he was always quick to correct me, with a snooty air—accent that laced my best friend's voice when he was annoyed. Though he'd been born in Minnesota, he'd lived the first fourteen years of his life in Dublin, Ireland. Since his parents had divorced, he'd moved with his mother back to her hometown of Katy, Texas. We'd been best friends ever since.

I took a swig of orange juice from the carton, grabbed my stuff, and barreled out the door, where the aforementioned and best friend, Seth McAllister, stood waiting for me. His blue eyes, previously annoyed, returned to their normal gentle glow. "No braid today?"

"No time, since a certain alarm didn't go off and a certain annoying Irish nuisance dragged me out the door. I'm just lucky I had time to brush it." As a spoke, I slung the masses of dark-brown waves into a low ponytail.

I've been told my hair is pretty, especially paired with my unusual eyes—a grayish sort of green—and it is, I guess, but it's thick and can never decide whether it's going to be wavy or curly. I usually just tied it back in a braid, but I had been short of time this morning.

Seth turned and set a brisk pace down the sidewalk. "Hey, wait up. My legs aren't as long as yours," I sighed.  
"I know, O tiny one. But we're going to be late for school-" He smirked. "So pick it up."

"Five-seven is taller than average." I sniffed. "It's not my fault you're a freak of nature." Seth, at almost seventeen, was five-eleven and his huge hands and feet promised three or four more inches.

He smiled. "I wasn't kidding about Mr. Cortez, though."

"No kidding. He caught Amanda coming in late the other day. Pretty scary stuff." I shuddered.

"Don't worry. I'll protect you."

I looked up for a second. His tone had been merely playful, but I sensed there was a tone of seriousness behind it. Not even seriousness—almost possessiveness.

_Wait—sensed? Looks like you got even less sleep than you thought, Levine._ I shook myself mentally, then teased right back, "I don't think it'll be me needing protecting—Mr. Cortez likes me."

"True, but everybody likes you."

"'Cause I'm just that awesome," I finished flippantly.

As we walked–well, in my case, jogged—up to Memorial High, home of the Mustangs, kids were still milling in the courtyard, signifying the bell hadn't rung yet, though it would soon. I headed off towards jazz band, my first class, clarinet in hand. Seth split off towards the band hall to snag his saxophone—he was a virtuoso when he wanted to be, but had no interest in practicing—then met me there. The day proceeded as normal; I struggled through "Eleanor Rigby" in band, snored through English, attempted to look smart in Algebra II, doodled on my notebook under the guise of taking notes in History, attempted to conjugate verbs in Spanish.

It was only in chemistry, which was taught by the school ogre, that things went wrong. I knew as soon as I walked into Mr. Folle's class that something was up. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife, and malice was pouring off the man like sweat. _He's _always _angry, Levine. Why should today be any different? _

_Yeah, but this _is_ different. _I argued silently.

Great. Now I was arguing with myself. Well, as long as I didn't lose…

_Usually it's just an idle animosity. Now he's actually pissed…better duck and cover. _

I lowered my head and walked quickly to the back of the room. This was one of the classes I didn't have with Seth—or with anyone I particularly liked, really—so I sat alone.

"EVERYBODY BE QUIET!"

Oh dear.

The class—usually rowdy—fell silent. Mr. Follé stalked around collecting homework. A quiet little girl—I think her name was Kelly—was taking a minute to find the sheet. Mr. Follé, going against what seemed possible, got angrier. "Of course, Miss Shay, just hold up the class while you root around in that pigsty of a binder."

_Okay…that's a little over the line._

"DO YOU REALLY THINK YOUR CLASSMATES ENJOY WAITING FOR YOU, MISS SHAY? DO I REALLY NEED TO DO _THIS_?" He picked up the binder and threw it on the ground, sending papers everywhere. And poor Kelly Shay, tears in her eyes, remained silent. She didn't even attempt to pick up the papers—all her concentration was focused on not crying. _Wait…how did I know that? _

But before the horrible man could do anything else to the poor girl, my untamable mouth got the better of me, and I was on my feet. "Mr. Follé!" I cried. "Leave her alone, and calm down."

I stepped towards Kelly, who had lost the battle with her tears and was sobbing. Hoping he didn't lose it any further, I knelt. The class remained silent. "C'mon, guys, pick her stuff up." Apparently someone telling what to do was what they needed—there was suddenly a flurry of activity.

As Kelly gathered her things, I snuck a glance at Mr. Follé. He had inexplicably calmed down, and looked stricken. As I watched, he turned on his heel and stalked out. Since he didn't return for the rest of the period, and no one really knew what to do, quiet murmurs broke out for the rest of class.

I could feel curious—and hero-worshipping, in Kelly's case—gazes drilling into my back, so I attempted to lose myself in my copy of _Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince_.

But I couldn't concentrate on Death Eaters and Dumbledore. _What did I do? How did he calm down so fast? _The questions whizzed around my head, and I soon gave up any pretense of reading the book. As soon as the bell rang, I bolted out the door—and ran straight into Seth.

"What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost." Concern rolled off him—_No. This isn't happening. I refuse. _"I'm fine. Look, I just need a little down time. Alone," I clarified hastily.

"Well, that's not gonna work, cause they need you in the office."

"After school?"

"Apparently. Look, I've gotta split, but I'll see you tomorrow, OK?"

"Fine," I said distractedly, and turned away. A big hand snagged my shoulder and pulled me into a hug.

He straightened again after a moment, his eyes gentle. "Chill, Aimes."

"I'm fine. Really."

"Okay."

I sighed and headed towards the front office. As I pushed open the glass door, the secretary looked up and gasped as her eyes filled with tears. I saw pain and pity in her eyes. _What's wrong? What's happened? _I opened my mouth, but she cut me off. "Go see Miss Romjin, darling—she'll explain everything."

Mystified as ever, I walked into the office.

Miss Romjin, our principal, was sitting behind the desk. Similar emotions to the secretary's churned inside her. Two men were leaning against the wall behind her. I couldn't sense them at all. I was too confused to register that as odd.

"Miss Levine?"

"Yeah."

"I'm so sorry I have to tell you this, but…" she took a deep breath.

"Your mother is dead."

For a full three heartbeats, I remained silent, trying to wrap my head around the concept.

_No._

_She can't be._

_There must be some mistake._

_I talked to her this morning!_

"How?" My voice was raspy. I swallowed and tried again. "What happened?"

"Car wreck." One of the men spoke. I would have shuddered at the sound of his voice, if I hadn't been so numb—it was flat and empty, devoid of emotion. "She died instantly—she didn't suffer."

_Died instantly._

_She didn't suffer. _

Marian, gone? She couldn't be. She was too happy, too full of life, too…vibrant. How could such a bright life be extinguished?

Marian.

Gone.

_I'll never see her again._

"Excuse me—"

I turned on my heel and sprinted out the door. I heard Mrs. Romjin call my name, but her voice was lost to the roaring in my ears.

_She's gone._

_My mom._

_She's gone._

The wind in my face dragged tears from my eyes. I let them fall.

_She's gone._

"Miss Levine, I'm afraid you can't leave."

It was the emotionless man again. I dubbed him Flat Man. His companion, if anything, was the opposite—shifting from foot and breathing hard. I called him Fidget. Flat Man pulled something from under his jacket—_a gun? What?_—and leveled it at me.

I turned to run, the only thing I remembered how to do. A soft _thunk_ sounded behind me, then a sting in my left arm. I stumbled, catching myself against the brick wall of the chemistry building. My vision swam and I struggled to keep my feet.

Fidget moved forward, pulling out a bottle of pills. _My pills. Why does he have my pills? _

He grabbed my jaw and attempted to force it open, when he was knocked backward by a force that barely missed me. Flat Man cursed and swung around, only to be blasted backward by a blur of silver and navy. I watched all this uncomprehending, wobbling on my feet.

The pair was taken care of in short order, and the assault battery that had nearly taken my head off stood. He was huge—easily six feet six, with broad shoulders and strong arms. His companions blurred behind him; I was fixated on what I saw at the ends of those arms. Gleaming silver claws, dripping with Fidget's blood. I felt nausea—

Then nothing.


	3. Destiny

Drifting in a pearl gray sea, I dreamed.

I saw Marian, smiling tenderly at me.

_But you're dead, Mom, _I wanted to say, but I couldn't find my voice. I felt anger around me—people were arguing. Abstractly, I knew I shouldn't know that, but I was too tired to understand _how _I knew it, or block it out. I saw Seth, blue eyes worried.

He opened his mouth, but before he spoke, he faded out, eclipsed by the man who killed Fidget. The man with the claws. _No. Not him. _The gray ocean rose, choking me, drowning me. I opened my mouth to shriek, and it got inside my mouth. _Help me. Please. _

Then the sea receded. I could breathe again. The arguing stopped abruptly. I heard voices. Worry invaded my consciousness then—_Ugh. Go away I just want to sleep, _I groused mentally_. _I tried to push away the emotions, but they pushed back.

_"Aimee."_

A man materialized before me. A man in a wheelchair. "_Who are you?"_

"_That isn't important. You are special, Aimee. Allow yourself to embrace the destiny set for you, even if you don't understand it. Now, you need to wake up."_

"_But—"_

"_No questions, dear girl. Perhaps we will meet again someday. But now it is time for you to wake up."_

I felt myself rising terrifically fast, through the gray water. Rising, faster and faster, till white light lanced through my eyelids.

It hurt. I tried to raise a hand to cover my eyes, but that would have required me finding my hand, or my eyes.

"Storm, I think she's awake." From the voice, the speaker was a girl, about my age, maybe fifteen or sixteen. I found my eyelids and attempted to lift them. While not succeeding particularly well, I managed to flutter them. The worry originally pervading her consciousness vanished. "Storm, she's awake!" As she spoke, I managed to open my eyes fully. Blinding white light attacked my vision— I wished immediately that it was still black. I attempted to lift a hand, but my body wasn't too keen on doing much of anything; it flopped back down onto the sheets. "Oh, crap! Sorry! I'll turn down those lights." She moved over to a wall, and the light dimmed.

"Thanks." _Is that voice mine? _It sounded like I had swallowed a frog. _Now that I think about it,_ I mused, _it tastes like it too… _"D'you have any water?"

"Yeah, of course." This came from a young man who was just walking in. For some reason, he felt…cold. Odd. A cup was pushed into my hand. I took a sip, wrinkling my nose at its temperature—lukewarm—_but at least it's water. _

"Here, let me help you with that." The cup was taken away—_No! _But quickly returned. To avoid a repeat performance, I took a larger gulp. _Wait—it's cold now. What's going on? _With my throat thus fortified, I tried again. "Where am I?"

"Good question. Here's a better one. _Who _are you? And what are you doing here?" This gruff question came from a tall, muscular man who'd just walked in, a younger black woman with white hair on his heels.

"Logan—" the boy said warningly.

"It's a fair question, Bobby. We don't know who this girl is, or why those men were after her." This last came from the woman with white hair, but I heard it only as background noise, as all my senses were trained on the man.

_The man with claws. The one who killed Fidget. _

I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. I coughed and tried again. "My name is Aimee Levine. I'm sixteen years old, born in Canada, raised in Houston, Texas. How long have I been here?"

"Two days," said the boy—Bobby?

"Two days ago, after school, I found out that my mother was dead. When I left school, two men approached me, and said they couldn't let me leave. One pointed a gun at me while the other tried to shove my heart medicine down my throat—why I don't know. Then the human tiger over there—" I pointed to Claw Man— "killed one—and I don't know what happened to the other one.

"Now let me ask _you _the same question." I finished, my blood up. "Who the hell are you? And why am I here? And what the _hell _was with Fidget trying to tranq me, then stuff a pill down my throat?"

The girl frowned. "Fidget?"

"The man who attacked me—I didn't know his name, so that's what I called him."

The woman spoke. "Aimee, you are special. You have powers that most people do not have or understand. We're the same way. My name is Ororo Munroe. That's Logan—"she indicated Claw Man—"Bobby—" the boy— "And Kitty," the girl. "We're mutants. And so are you."

_Mutants?_

I coughed. "Mutants? Like _mutated, _as in genetically different? That's impossible. I'm just…me."

The woman—Ororo? smiled. "I know it's hard to believe, but it's true. This is Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. It's basically a boarding school for mutants. I know your mother is dead, and since you're adopted, we're guessing you have no living relatives. Would you like to stay here, to learn to control your powers?"

_Control my powers? _"What _are _my powers?"

"We're not really sure. That's one reason you need to stay. We have an idea—it's something to do with empathy—but what we do know is that you're one of the most powerful mutants to cross our path. If you can't control your powers, you could be a menace to the general public."

_This can't be happening. _"I'll get the Cure, then," I said wildly. "I don't want this."

"Well, that might be—"

"Don't." This came from Bobby.

"You can't control me," I snarled.

He turned his eyes away from mine. "My girlfriend gave up her powers. She's not the same. You're giving up a part of yourself—what's your name?"

"Aimee."

"It's a part of you, Aimee. A part you can't get back."

I considered that. "What if it's a part I don't want?"

"You found out about it what, five minutes ago? How _can_ you know whether you want it?"

"Look, kid." This came from Claw Man—Logan. "I'll make you a deal. Keep your powers for a year. A year to the day. And if you still feel that your powers aren't worth having, I'll take you to get the c=Cure myself."

"Logan—" Ororo again. "You can't make that deal!"

"Accepted," I returned warily, ignoring Ororo's protests. A year couldn't be that bad; besides, where else did I have to go?

_Nowhere. I have nothing and no one. No one at all._ The knowledge came up and slapped me in the face. _The only person who ever took care of me is gone. _My vision swam, and I blinked hard—_No. Don't do this now. Not now._

Ororo's face revealed nothing, but fury rolled off her in waves. _Empathy, huh? This could get interesting…_

"We-ell, I guess we'd better get your room sorted!" the girl—Kitty—announced, breaking a silence I only now recognized had been awkward. Her enthusiasm filled the room as she nearly yanked my arm out of its socket pulling me out of bed and through the slick metal door. I acquiesced numbly, stumbling over my still-leaden feet. Bobby followed us, relief at leaving the tense room almost tangible_. _At least to me.


	4. Well Met

"Here we are! My room's just down the hall, and Bobby's is next door," Kitty chirped. I was bodily shoved into a small, spare room.

It was fairly generic, though Kitty was busy assuring me that we could personalize it however we wished, short of painting the walls. She truly was a happy individual.

_Happy…and talkative, _I reflected ruefully. I exchanged glances with Bobby, who simply shrugged, his face saying _I'm used to this. _Or was it his_ face _saying it? _God, this could get confusing…_

"So, I guess we'll leave you alone then, to get settled in. It was really great meeting you, Aimee!" Kitty's exit—through the wall instead of the door— jolted me out of my reverie.

"Oh—thanks, Kitty. See you, Bobby."

Bobby turned as if to leave, then turned back. "Hey, Aimee—"

"Yeah?"

"There's a lot of kids here who came from similar situations to yours. Most of us are runaways who learned about our powers very abruptly. So—if you need anything… we're here."

I looked up at him with dawning respect. _Pretty perceptive, _I conceded.

"Thank you, Bobby. I appreciate that," I returned, stumbling over the words.

He made as if to say something else, then thought better of it and slipped out, closing the door behind him.

As he left, I sat down on the bed with a disbelieving, semi-hysterical sigh. _Just breathe. One thing at a time. _Sighing, I keeled over, burying my face in my pillow.

The door creaked open. "Aimee?"

I knew without looking it was Ororo, but Logan wasn't behind her. _Well thank God for small blessings. _"Yeah?"

Gently, she said, "I know most of your things are still in Houston. We took the liberty of finding your foster mother's will, and she left everything to you. This leaves you with a sizable bank account, although the house will have to be returned to the bank."

_My house. _I choked back tears. The old house had been built in the fifties, and despite it being slightly dilapidated, I loved the place—it had personality. But I knew Marian

hadn't paid off the mortgage, and even if I could afford it, it would be impractical to do so now. "Okay. Anything else?"

"Well, your things are still there. We can send you to Houston to pack everything up. But we will be sending you with a chaperone."

"Why?"

"Because, for all intents and purposes, Aimee, we _are _your guardians now." The woman seemed slightly impatient, but softened.

"I know this is a lot to take in. But I think it might be easier if you have your things—it might help you adjust."

_Fair enough. _The woman didn't strike me as a bad person—just slightly stressed. "Thank you, Ms. Munroe."

"Call me Storm—everyone else does."

I frowned. "Storm? Interesting name."

"It's got a story behind it." I waited, but she didn't seem inclined to provide any more information.

"Okay—when do I leave?"

"Tomorrow, if that's not too early. You're on the ten o'clock flight."

"That's fine. Thanks again." Inexplicably, I yawned. My sense of Storm flickered, indicating—amusement?

I looked out the window. The sun was setting behind a carefully tended garden and—_are those gravestones? _I stood and crossed to the window. "What are those?"

I felt Storm behind me. "Those are graves. The largest one is the former headmaster, Charles Xavier. The two smaller ones are two teachers, Scott Summers and Jean Grey."

I felt a well of pain rise inside her, but when I turned to see her face, her expressionless mask snapped back into place.

I didn't know what to say.

Storm sighed. "Get some sleep. Go down to the garage tomorrow at nine—someone will be waiting to take you to the airport."

"Thanks, Storm." I caught her eye and smiled. "I really do appreciate what you've done for me."

She smiled back, and I felt her pain lessen. "Of course, Aimee. We've all been in your shoes. If you need anything, just call."

"I will."

Abruptly, she turned on her heel and swept out. I turned towards the window again.

"Well met."

I whirled. A man stood in the doorway. At least, it was the size and shape of a man, though my instincts—and my newfound sixth sense—screamed that he wasn't human, or even similar to the mutants I'd met so far.

"Who—who're you?" I asked. I wasn't proud of the squeak that crept in at the end.

He bowed his head. "My name is Kurt Wagner," he answered, in a heavy German accent.

"I did not intend to startle you—only to thank you."

I could tell he truly hadn't meant to scare me—almost as if he was used to just popping in behind people. "Thank me for what?"

"It has been long since Storm has smiled. Dr. Xavier was her mentor, and Mr. Summers and Ms. Grey her dear friends. Taking care of you has given her something to take her mind off of her pain—and perhaps begun to heal it."

_Hmm. There's a story here. _"What happened to them?"

He frowned. "I do not believe it is my place to tell another's story."

_Oops. Touchy subject. _Attempting to alleviate the slightly awkward silence, I asked, "How did you get behind me like that? I've been able to sense people coming near me before."

He smiled. "Because my mutation is—I believe you would call it teleportation." He moved closer, out of the shadow of the doorway. He wore an overcoat, although it was warm in the house.

_Wait—is he black? _I squinted. _No…his skin is_ blue! It was true—his skin was navy, with raised tattoos. He smiled, seeing the source of my confusion.

Wincing, I apologized. "I'm sorry—I'm sure you get that a lot."

"Yes. And when you do not mean to gawk, I am not bothered by it." He took my hand_—And…he only has two fingers—_and raised it to his face. Slowly, I traced one on his cheek.

"What do they mean?"

"One for every sin."

I nodded slowly. "Thank you, Mr. Wagner. I am honored."

"Of course, child—what is your name?"

"Aimee."

"Aimee…" he repeated. "Beloved?"

"Y-yes."

"It suits you well."

"That's what my mother said," I replied, smiling brokenly.

"She was correct. I believe you will be good for this place, Aimee. I look forward to meeting you again." And with that, he _poofed_ out of existence.

"And you," I murmured, as I lowered my hand. With a last look out the window, I stumbled over to the bed, fell on it, and rolled over to my back.

I chuckled quietly, bitterly. _Could this get any stranger?_

If only I knew.


	5. No Chance of Normal

The thunder of footsteps outside my door woke me the next morning. I growled mentally as I turned over, intending to go back to sleep.

That plan was dashed to dust by a sharp knock on my door, followed by Kitty's voice. "Aimee! I've got some stuff for you!"

Sighing, I rose and, rubbing the grit of sleep out of my eyes, stumbled to the door. I pulled it open to reveal Intangible Girl holding a towel, a pair of underwear, and—_my savior—_tooth- and hairbrushes.

My excitement must have shown in my face, because she laughed and said, "Figured you might need some of this—until you get your stuff back."

"Kitty, you're an angel."

"No, that's Warren." She answered my quizzical look with a laugh. "You'll meet him later. Anyway, breakfast is at eight every morning, then classes start at eight-thirty. It's eight-oh-five now. The dining hall is down that hall, then down the stairs and turn right—you can't miss it.

"So, I've gotta go eat—I'll save you a spot!" With a wave, she bounced off down the corridor.

Grinning like an idiot, I quickly availed myself of the apparently private bathroom and the hairbrush, then headed down after her.

I ate with Kitty, Bobby, and a few others that I was introduced to but didn't register. There was a huge boy—if someone that big could be called a boy—that Kitty called Peter—Paul—P something, anyway_, _a girl with the heavy eyeliner and black clothing that I'd normally have dubbed goth, but too bubbly for that adjective to even cross my mind, and a young blonde man, who apparently was the mysterious Warren.

While the "angel" nickname didn't come up, I could see why he was called that—the white wings coming out of his back were kind of a clue. The conversation was similar to the hundreds I'd heard in my high school's lunchroom_. _

Glancing at the clock—8:27—the group dumped their trays and, with a few hurried goodbyes, left quickly. I was left with a half hour to kill, so I wandered out onto the grounds. Moving through the carefully tended gardens, I found myself next to the gravestones I'd seen the night before.

Kneeling down, I read the inscription on the largest one. _Charles Xavier, Headmaster and beloved mentor. _Beneath the dates of birth and death was inscribed_ Luke 6:37 _

I smiled._ Judge not, that ye be not judged. _Marian had had me read most of the Bible at one point or another, and frequently quoted lines from it at me. _How appropriate, for the headmaster of weirdo school, _I thought savagely, then instantly regretted it, recalling Kitty's easy acceptance, and Bobby's helping hand.

_Besides, I'm a "weirdo" now too. Being bitter will get me nowhere. _I turned to the other, smaller headstones. They didn't tell me anything more than Storm had, with simple names, dates, and generic endearments—_beloved teacher _and whatnot.

I allowed my thoughts to turn to Marian again. _I need to get her a headstone. _Mentally composing it in my head, I sat heavily on a bench. _Marian…_I fought back tears. Until now, it hadn't really sunk in that my mother was gone. _I'm _never _going to see her again. Never_. Angrily wiping away the moisture that had accumulated in my eyes, I glanced at my watch. 8:50.

_Better head over to the garage, I guess._

I stood and headed away from the stones.

Xxxx

With only one minor turnaround, I made it to the garage with a few minutes to spare. Flipping on the light, I nearly swooned. Parked in front of me was an honest-to-god original 1997 Harley-Davidson Sportster. While I wasn't Seth, who could talk about the motorcycle company for hours on end, my best friend's enthusiasm had instilled in me an appreciation for a good motorcycle—and enough know-how to drool over this fine specimen. Dropping to my knees, I checked out the engine.

"Nice ride, ain't she?"

I froze.

_The man with the claws._

Swallowing, I rose, somehow knowing that being in a subordinate position around this man was a bad idea. "Definitely. Yours?"

"Yup."

I turned. _Crap. _"_You're _my chaperone?"

"Got a problem with that?"

"Whether I do or I don't, it doesn't look like I have a choice."

I cringed mentally. _That mouth of yours, Levine… _

A rough chuckle escaped him. "You've got spirit. I like that. You ready to go?"

Warily, I nodded.

He sighed. "Look, kid. I don't bite." He turned and walked towards a nondescript-looking Land Rover. I followed and hopped in the front seat, peeking at him again.

He grinned wolfishly. "Much."

I snorted.

The car ride and subsequent flight passed in silence. Having realized that I'd never actually gotten a good look at the guy, I snuck fleeting looks at him until I could pick him out of a crowd. I'd overestimated the first time I'd saw him—closer to six-four than six-six, but still extremely well-muscled. His hair stuck up in two points.

With the leather jacket, wifebeater, and cigar—which he reluctantly extinguished at the behest of a harassed-looking flight attendant—he looked the epitome of bar-hopping hooligan. Or at least what I thought a bar-hopping hooligan would look like.

_He doesn't _feel _like one though, _I thought to myself. For all his outward appearance of indifference, his—_aura_—for lack of a better word—pulsed with a raw, unadulterated pain and regret, simmering beneath the surface. He'd done a good job of shoving it to the back of his mind, but it was plain to see with someone of my abilities. I winced. _I don't _want _to know this. Everyone is entitled to privacy. _

We pulled up to the house. With all the lights off, the house looked forlorn. Marian and I had been horrible about leaving the electrical appliances on—_come to think of it, _I wondered, _did I turn my light at the School off? _I grinned wryly, recalling one memorable event with the oven. The whole kitchen had required a remodel after that escapade.

It was easier to think of Marian this way, as the vibrant, energetic, occasionally absent-minded, but always loving mother I knew her to be, than cold and still in a coffin. Marian still—it just didn't compute.

While pondering this, I had gotten out of the car and reached the porch, avoiding the half-rotten second step out of habit. Marian usually paid Seth to do odd jobs around the house, but with junior year starting, he'd been too busy to replace the board as yet. I pushed open the unlocked door—another example of our next-to-nonexistent security—and stepped inside.

Even more than the outside, the inside of the house looked sad and abandoned, though it'd been without an occupant for only three days. I moved through the house, checking every room, while behind me I heard Logan moving, uncannily quietly for such a large man.

Having checked the lower floors, I headed up the steps to the bedroom. Behind me, Logan called, "Hey, kid, I've got to talk to the lawyer in charge of the place and straighten things out. Be back in twenty."

Without turning, I yelled, "That's fine."

He sighed. "Get down here."

I halted, considering ignoring him. I heard a growl. "Get down _now, _kid."

Sullenly, I headed back down the steps. "I'm not a kid."

"To me, you are. Deal with it," he shot back.

I glared up at him from under my eyelids. He sighed and pulled a small object from his pocket. Handing it to me, I saw it was a small contraption, similar to a cell phone. "You get in any trouble—even if it's just a feeling—you press the button."

Handing it to me, I felt his hot, callused fingers brush mine. I almost gagged. If the emotions I had felt emanating off him before were annoying, this was stifling. His unexplained pain, his annoyance at my skittishness and refusal to trust him, his confusion as to _why _I was afraid of him—it all poured into me, obliterating everything else.

Before I knew it, I was across the room, doubled over in pain. His expression instantly turned from slight annoyance to concern. "Aimee?"

With the loss of contact, the roar had slowed to a trickle. Slowly, I straightened. "I'm okay." My voice was scratchy with pain.

"You didn't look okay."

"Just a little side effect I wasn't expecting."

His expression cleared. "Yeah, the powers take some getting used to."

_Tell me about it. _"I'll be fine."

Looking at me doubtfully, he extended the device again. I took it, being careful not to touch him. Without another word, he turned and swept through the front door. "Be back in twenty. And if you feel _anything, _press the damn button!"

I turned and headed back up the stairwell. This new side of my powers had scared the bejesus out of me. _If everyone's like that…_I shuddered. _Will I ever be able to touch again? _I silently thanked my lucky stars that I didn't get the same reaction off inanimate objects.

I stepped through the door into my room. Sighing, I sat on the bed heavily. _Why me? _I asked myself. _Why did I get the wonky powers? Why couldn't I have just lived a _normal _life, with a _normal _mom, and maybe grow up and have a _normal _marriage with _normal _kids? How can I do any of that now? It's some horrible accident of Fate!_

Lying back, I began to weep. _And why did Marian have to pay the price? _I let my tears—finally—fall. Marian had taught me the importance of a good cry. I didn't cry much—it just wasn't my nature. But rolling over and hugging my pillow, breathing in the smell of fresh detergent, I unleashed the storm of tears. Let myself mourn my mother and my former life.

Fifteen minutes later, I rolled over again and stood, cried out. Now, I hoped the death of my mother and the loss of my home would cease to be the fresh, bleeding wounds they were now, and scab over, eventually to scar. I doubted it would ever cease to ache, but with time, perhaps it wouldn't reopen every time I thought about her.

I crossed to the bookshelf, slowly gathering the necessities. Logan had informed me curtly that I couldn't take much. Roughly, for every thing I took, two more would go to Goodwill, so I had to choose carefully.

As I ran my fingers along the well-worn spines of my line of _Star Wars _paperbacks, I heard thedoor slam open. Assuming it was Logan, back early, I opened my mouth to yell down to him, then shut it. This man—I somehow knew it was a man—didn't _feel _likeLogan. He was filled with a strange malevolence, an utter disregard for life.

I dug in my pocket for the cell-phone-thingy and pressed down hard on the button. I heard boots tramping up the stairs. Biting my hand to keep from screaming, I scrambled under the bed.

My door slammed open, breaking off its hinges. I saw heavy boots encasing huge feet. The feet wandered around, then turned towards the bed. I heard it creaking as the man leaned against it, leaning down. I couldn't help it.

I screamed.


	6. Fear

The eyes glaring at me from next to the bed could be described only as _feral. _The mutant—there was no doubt in my mind he was a mutant—had a craggy face, framed by wild, unkempt reddish hair. His lips were pulled back over large, pointed teeth that reminded me of a wolf.

I could tell he was going to lunge a second before he did—apparently another handy side affect of this empathy—and barely managed to scramble out of the way and out from under the bed.

The mutant snarled and attempted to follow, but managed to get himself stuck underneath. Instead of extricating himself, he simply reached behind him and snapped the bed in half before throwing the pieces to opposite ends of the room. Below me, I heard the door smash in and Logan's cursing.

So did my opponent, apparently, because he paused and turned towards the door, where Logan was waiting.

I felt my insides freeze. This was Logan no longer—this was the man with the claws. Obviously straining to form the words around an animalistic growl, he grunted, "Run, kid!" before he launched himself, claws extended, at the mutant. _Oh, no. _If there was anyone who I would have bet on to have a chance of beating Logan in a physical fight, this mutant would be my pick.

He was at least seven foot to Logan's six-four, and while he didn't have daggers coming out of his knuckles, his nails were overgrown and brown, and looked lethally sharp.

I pressed myself against the wall, inching around the brawl currently taking place in—not to mention destroying—my room. But once I neared the hole that had originally been my doorway, Logan's opponent simply threw him through a wall into Marian's room, where he lay ominously still, and leaped in front of me.

Skidding to a stop, I tripped over debris that I was pretty sure had originally been my desk and landed hard on my butt. With a snarl of triumph, the mutant swiped at me.

I rolled out of the way and frantically scrabbled on the floor, looking for something, _anything, _that could help me. He grabbed my ankle and flipped me over with a low chuckle, his nails biting into my skin.

Without conscious thought, I _shoved_ with my mind, my only instinct to keep him away. He howled in pain—the cry of a wounded animal. His cry was echoed by my own, and we mirrored each other was we scrabbled at our arms.

His pain was real enough—as evidenced by the blood pouring from his newly mangled arm—but mine was phantom, although no less because of it. The mutant howled again, and with one more furious look at me, holding his crushed excuse for an arm to his chest, he left the way he had come.

The pain in my arm faded slowly. I heard Logan groaning in the other room, then tramping towards me and kneeling.

"Kid? You okay?"

His words were steady, but I sensed some fear leaking from him.

I rolled over to look at him. "I'm all right."

Sticking out a hand, he helped me up. "What did you _do _to him? You should've been toast!"

"I…" the enormity of what I had done only then sank in. "I _shoved…_with my mind. Or…more like _yanked_. I just wanted him to get away…" I could feel bile rising in my throat. "Oh, god, I hurt him!"

"Well, yeah. But let me tell you, he was planning on doing a lot worse to you."

"But…I _felt _it. I could feel his pain…his suffering."

I felt him shake me gently. "Aimee."

I ignored him, instead trying frantically to calm the hysterics I could feel setting in.

"_Aimee."_

He shook me harder, then grabbed my chin, forcing me to look him in the eyes.

"That was a mutant called Sabertooth. I've fought him before—and I thought I'd killed him. But he's a sadistic bastard, and he would have hurt you—badly. He—or more likely, whoever he's working for—wanted you alive, but that's a loose term. _You did the right thing."_

It wasn't the words themselves so much as the deep, steady timbre of his voice that calmed me.

"But…Logan…I thought empathy was my mutation. But if it is, how did I do that?"

"I don't know, kid—that's not my specialty. But my guess would be that empathy's more a side effect—a check on your power, if you will. You have the power to hurt and kill, but the empathy forces you to feel your enemy's pain, and thus keep you from becoming only raw power with no morals. Trust me, that never ends well."

The hidden pain I had felt earlier—was it only this morning?—became more pronounced for a moment, before it vanished again. My thoughts were clearer now, and I was able to look at what I had done more objectively.

"Logan…I think what I did is moved the _cells, _you know? The building blocks of his body."

"Really. So you basically yanked them open?"

"Yes." I felt revulsion, but tamped it down firmly. "But…if I could do that, why couldn't I do it the other way, too? Heal, instead of harm?"

"I don't see why you couldn't. Why not try? You've got enough cuts."

Looking down, I saw what he'd meant. Flying debris had battered my skin, leaving myriad cuts and bruises. Slowly, I placed a hand over one on my forearm, and _pulled. _

I gasped at the odd sensation, tears filling my eyes as the skin yanked itself together and fused. Examining my handiwork, I saw that I had accidentally overshot, and a small bulge marked the original wound.

But it didn't bleed, and after the initial discomfort, it didn't hurt. Running my fingers over the shiny scar tissue, I frowned. "I need practice."

"And a lot of medical knowledge."

"Yeah…I wouldn't want to try this on anybody else for a long time." Remembering his own brawl with Sabertooth, I quickly scanned his impossibly unmarked skin. "Wait…where are your cuts?"

"One of my mutant abilities is extremely fast healing."

I nodded. "I guess that's why your knuckles aren't scabbed all the time." Lifting his large hand, I brushed my fingertips over the smooth skin. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Does…does it hurt? When they…" I stopped, blushing at the impertinence of my question.

"Every time."

I sighed. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. There's a lot of people that deserve your sorry in this world—I ain't one of 'em."

The pain I'd sensed returned, full force. I winced at the power of it, and promised myself I would find out what had hurt him so badly, and return the favor.

Impulsively, I leaned forward and hugged him hard. "There's more than enough for everybody."

I didn't understand my desire, my _need _to comfort him, but he wasn't the only one who needed the comfort, so I didn't try to—at least not right then.

He stiffened for a moment, then hesitantly put his arms around my shoulders and sighed. And there we stood, two lost souls, in the middle of a destroyed room, with nothing to hold onto but each other.


	7. New Direction

**Okay, in my defense, this chapter I actually had a reason for the late update. *winces* I started at a new school this year, and am attempting to shoulder the new workload, which left little time for writing. I will attempt to adhere to a better schedule, but life sucks. P Anyway, thank you to the wonderful reviewers of chapter 6- Bright-Eyed Athena, LaughingAngelsGibberish, Shenzuul, Vicster's Jar of Dirt, and Wunmii! So come on, people, let's follow their shining example! Huge thanks also to my wonderful beta, berneynator! But without further ado, I give you Chapter Seven of Only a Tool!**

* * *

With a grunt, I taped the last box shut. The sound echoed against the newly bare walls. The posters, photos, medals, plaques, and various junk that had obscured them for years were now crumpled into the a trash bag or neatly folded in the bottom of one of the pitifully few boxes scattered around the room. For every thing item I was taking with me, another three were going in the trash or to Goodwill. While Logan had warned me against overpacking, even he had raised his eyebrows at how little I was choosing to take with me. I had simply shrugged at his unspoken disbelief. Though it had only been—_only three days?—_since my whole life had spun out of control, I already knew that the Aimee that had inhabited this room was gone.

Something vibrated under the nightstand, rattling against the floorboards. I started, much more jumpy than I normally would be, before I knelt and managed to extricate my cell phone out from underneath the nightstand. _That_ _was rather closer to pristine yesterday morning_, I thought wryly. Flipping the black Motorazr open, I saw that I had no less than _ten_ missed calls, eight voicemails, and eleven text messages awaited awaiting me—all but one from Seth. While I had other friends at school, Seth was far and away the closest. _But I didn't realize he cared that much. _

_"Don't worry. I'll protect you." _That flash of possessiveness I had felt from him…even when I didn't realize what it meant. _Though as far as it that goes, I _still _don't understand it. _Mind buzzing with confusion, I played the first voicemail.

"_Hey Ames, it's Seth…just wondering how you were, and wondering if…if you were okay. So…yeah. Call me when you get this."_

The second message was similar.

"_Hey Aimee, it's Seth…again. I was wondering why you weren't at school today, and if you need me to bring you schoolwork or anything. But you're not answering your home phone. Obviously. But…if you need anything…just call tomorrow. Or tonight. That's good too. Bye."_

A sudden onrush of emotion nearly overcame me. I hadn't thought about what Seth would think if I just disappeared. _God…how can I do that to him? Is it better to tell him, or just not answer his calls—a clean break? And what's better for _me_? _A life without Seth in it seemed even more unimaginable than one without Marian.

I felt those dratted tears creeping up on me again. Angrily, I rubbed them away, forcing myself to think logically. _A clean break. I don't think I can stand the reminder of my life here. _

"Kid? You ready?" Logan, apparently, had grown tired of pacing in the living room. That was the furthest he had allowed me from him in the past twenty-four hours. _And that only because we argued too much_. That tiny insight we now had into each other hadn't curbed either of our tempers. I knew we had to leave today, because destruction of the house was due to begin tomorrow. Every room had been cleared out, bound for auction or—in the case of the few things I couldn't bear to let go of but were too bulky to take with me—forin storage.

"Yeah…one minute."

"I'll start the car, then."

With a grunt, eliciting a grin from me, he lifted the two boxes nearest him, one under each arm. "What'd you pack in here, kid, rocks?"

I grinned wider. "Books. Marian always said books had to be heavy, because they had the whole world inside them."

He smiled back. "They do that."

Turning, he left, stomping down the stairs.

I smiled as I turned to the next box. My original debilitating fear of him had degenerated into the natural wariness of prey near a predator—and after seeing him fight Sabertooth and Fidget, I had no illusions that he wasn't exactly that. Lifting the next box, whose weight also designated it as books, I left through the hole that had been my bedroom door.

* * *

Placing the last box into the car, I wiped sweat from my eyes. Though it was almost November, the Houston heat was still caused sweating if you were undertook any activity more strenuous than sitting on your butt.

"Aimee!"

_No._

_God, no._

I looked over at Logan, attempting to communicate that he should stay in the car. He apparently understood, because he turned away, giving me what little privacy he could.

"Ames!"

Steeling myself, I turned.

"Seth."

Mentally, I cringed at the flat tone of my voice.

His happiness—and relief—at seeing me had dimmed, replaced by confusion, hurt, and wariness.

"Ames, what happened? I heard about Marian, and I tried calling you, but you didn't answer! Where the _hell _have you been? And what are you doing? You're not—"

"I'm leaving, Seth."

The happiness was nearly completely gone now, but now surprise was added to the churning mix of his churning emotions on his face.

"What? Why? Where?"

"It's complicated."

"_Dammit, _Aimee, I thought I was your best friend! But how can I be if you don't even tell me—"

"Shut _up, _Seth!"

He did.

"You _were_ my best friend, Seth. But you can't be anymore. I'm sorry."

He looked at me, shock and hurt etched into his features and tracing through his aura.

"I'm different now. And…my life is taking a new direction. One that you can't be a part of."

His hurt deepened to an agony that nearly made me double over, and robbed me of speech. I hardened my heart and _snapped _the conduits between us closed. The transmission of his pain lessened, allowing me to continue burdened only by my own. "I'm sorry."

Abruptly, some of the pain I'd felt in him began to manifest itself as anger. "So that's it, then, Aimee? Just dumping your best friend, on to greener pastures? I thought I knew you better than that. But I guess not. I guess you're just like the girls you always said you hated—the ones that use people, then leave them when they're not needed anymore. Well, Aimee, sucks for you. And I hope someday you find someone who does the same to you—see how it feels. Someone you really care about, someone who you think—" he stopped, rethinking what he was about to say.

_No, _I a little voice inside my head whimpered. _No. Not like this. _

"Seth—"

"No, Ames. Your life's taking a _new direction."_ His tone was mocking. "One that _I can't be a part of." _

"No, Seth—"

"Bye, Aimee."

He turned on his heel and stalked down the street. Away from me.

_No. _

I don't know how long I stood there, watching him stride down the street, then turn the corner and disappear. It felt like eons. But I eventually slammed the trunk shut, walked around to the passenger side of the rented Land Rover, and got in. I pulled my knees up to my chest, an almost subconscious protective gesture to hold myself together, and wrapped my arms around my shins.

A broken heart. I had always thought of it as a silly metaphor, used in the so-called "darkest hour" of books that nearly always had happy endings. But the ache I felt in my chest was no less painful than Sabertooth's had been—more so, even, because it was my own. I could feel Logan's confusion, pity, and—_anger? On my behalf?_ But I ignored it, focusing completely on not completely breaking down. But the tears didn't bend to my will, and the only concession I gained was that they fell silently. I turned to face the window, watching the neighborhood of my childhood speed by. As we pulled onto the Beltway towards George Bush International Airport, I carefully sealed away the part of my heart that yearned for younger, simpler days, forcing myself to not look back.


	8. Knowledge

**Ooh, an actually almost timely chapter! Yay! (Even if it was only because I was home sick today. Shh!) A million times THANK YOU to berneynator, my awesome beta--she woke me up from my sneezy stupor with an "um, stargirl? The first half of this chapter sounds like Bella at the beginning of _New Moon!" _Not what I was going for at all, so thanks for that, darling. :D Thanks also to all my awesome reviewers this time around, including Courtney Summers--welcome aboard! Anyhoo, this one is kinda long, because I couldn't find a good place to stop. :) But without further ado, I give you the next chapter of Only a Tool!**

**Disclaimer: Not mine. Except Aimee and Seth. Hands off.**

* * *

Even when it seems impossible, life goes on. Even when your heart feels like it's holding together by a handful of frayed threads, you eventually start trudging forward again. So it happened with me.

Kitty and Bobby were lifesavers those first few weeks. I hadn't spoken to Logan nearly the whole flight back, providing monosyllabic answers when absolutely necessary. He seemed to understand my need for silence, and had respected it for the most part. But the day I'd returned, Kitty had allowed me to be "mopey" for all of ten minutes before she'd dragged me to her room, insisting on a girl's night in, so relentlessly cheerful I'd normally have been ticked off. But now, I appreciated it for what it was—genuine concern for my well-being. Kitty was a truly sweet person, and honestly did her best to keep me distracted. Initially, I was frustrated, thinking _why can't you leave me alone? _But I eventually cherished the fact that she didn't let me become a hermit—it was because of her, in the large part, that I transferred into life as a mutant so well.

Bobby was less overt in his concern, but I felt it just the same. He would watch Kitty babbling about something, then look over at me and simply shrug a little. _She is what she is, _he seemed to say. Wasn't that the truth.

You know that saying, "Time heals all wounds?" It's not really true, but time does dull the pain till you can think of what you had fondly, without the sting of regret.

I settled into life at Xavier's, falling into a routine not unlike the one I'd had P.M. (Pre-Mutation). I looked back at the younger, more boisterous Aimee—_naive _and _shallow _were my words of choice when I was feeling cynical— and I understood the reason for the change. Because I _had_ changed. I was quieter, though I tried to stay friendly and happy. My original easy sarcasm had morphed into a sardonic wit. It wasn't for better or for worse, it just…_was. _I wasn't even sure it was a product of my experiences. Maybe the powers had been the first manifestation, but I _was _growing up. Sometimes I would catch myself wondering what my life would have been like if all this—_this _being my "condition," as stuffy government doctors on TV called it—hadn't happened. But if I caught myself at it, I'd give myself a mental shake and strike up a conversation with whoever happened to be sitting near.

Apparently my _awesome_ new talent was unprecedented in the mutant world. I refused to allow Dr. McCoy—our resident physician—to "study" me, as he put it. When he tried to push, Logan growled at him. While apparently their mutations were similar—both were so-called "feral" mutants, even though McCoy was blue—Logan was obviously the more dominant of the two, because the good doctor had backed off quick and had never bothered me about it again. As for me? I attempted to ignore it most of the time, very rarely even using it, and dove into anatomy textbooks. Before I tried healing anything else, I needed to know everything there was to know about _what_ I was attempting to fix. McCoy quizzed me when I wanted it—apparently he harbored no hard feelings about my lack of cooperation.

Having managed to cut the empathic links I had with someone once, it became surprisingly easy to repeat it. I was soon able to manipulate the links, paring them down until I received only the strongest emotions or, if necessary, cutting them off completely. Once I figured out how, it became a routine matter—out of respect for others' privacy, but also to protect my sanity. My own emotions coupled with those of a dozen others left me frazzled—at least usually. There was one memorable occasion on which I came into contact with a mutant who was apparently a _very _happy drunk. Kitty assures me that that the results were quite entertaining.

Nearly two months passed, every day my control getting better, every day feeling more at home. I made friends, slogged through classwork, played pranks. Warren became the perfect foil for my nearly insatiable desire for debate, Kassandra my pyrogenic partner-in-crime, if a little shallow for my tastes. I found my niche at Xavier's. We got along (mostly) because we were all a little different—even in a school full of mutants. Warren's father had been the spearhead of the mutant-neutralizing movement. Kassandra had managed to start two major fires before making it to Xavier's, thankfully killing no one but seriously injuring several people. Her control was still shaky, which is why Bobby shared nearly all of her classes—he'd become quite adept at using his cryogenic powers to put out smoldering carpets and such.

I didn't really understand why Bobby and Kitty were part of our group. They had been my friends since the beginning, but seemed surprisingly…normal, for lack of a better word…compared to the rest of the group. All of us were "dangerous" in some way—except them. They were treated almost as celebrities by most of the kids at Xavier's, especially the ones who'd been there longer than I had. They were automatically deferred to as the leaders of the school, though they never abused—or even really took advantage of—that clout. Warren received a similar sort of respect, but his influence was more tinged with fear. The three of them also would be taken out of class at random intervals, and all three had extra class after the regular school day, and often would walk into class with bruises and cuts the next day. I watched this go on for several months before asking Kassandra about it one day when the trio had been pulled out of class.

She looked at me like I was nuts. "What? You don't know?"

I sighed. "If I knew, would I be asking?"

"…I guess not."

She frowned. "It's just…it's, like, an open secret. Nobody's supposed to know, but everyone does."

I raised my eyebrows inquiringly, reaching out tentatively with my empathy. Her aura was colored with the glee of good gossip, but nothing more.

She leaned closer. "They're _X-Men."_

"X-Men?"

"Shhh! Not so loud."

I lowered my voice obligingly, though it hadn't been loud to begin with—especially not in the crowded dining hall. "X-Men?"

She giggled. "They're, like, superheroes. They go around protecting humans—and picking up dangerous mutants. Like you," she added.

"What?"

"They picked you up, I mean. The day your mom died, right?"

Eyes narrowing, I _reached_ out again. This time, I thought I saw a glint of malice, but it disappeared too fast for me to tell.

"Yeah…with the tight leather suits?"

"Yup. Almost all of the teachers are in it, apparently—Logan, Storm, Dr. McCoy, Bobby, and Kitty. Warren too, I think, and I'm pretty sure Mr. Summers and Dr. Grey were in it too."

"So…a secret society?"

"Not exactly, more like an emergency response team." Her face soured. "Of course, there's something _special _about them. I'm surprised they haven't asked you yet." Definitely some anger this time, but not directed at me, and tinged more with…jealousy? "You're a healer—no one's ever been able to do that."

"…Yeah."

She said something else, but I wasn't listening.

"I gotta go."

I stood and mechanically tossed my trash and left the room, heading for the one person I _knew_ would give me a straight answer.

As I walked down the hall towards the gym, I wondered what it could mean. _The X-Men…maybe they could help me find the people who sent Flat Man and Fidget. I could find out why they'd come. _Abruptly, I was angry. _They didn't trust me enough to tell me this? That they could help me find out if Marian's death was an accident or not? Did it just "slip their minds?" _A little voice in the back of my head told me that I was overreacting, but I ignored it. I stopped in front of Logan's office door. I reached for the doorknob, intending to barge right in, then thought better of it and knocked twice. No answer. I turned the knob and entered.

The room was small and Spartan. A door that I guessed led to his bedroom was on the left.

Feeling a little like a peeping tom, but firmly squashing the insistent little voice screaming _what the heck are you doing, get out of here now!, _I walked toward the extremely messy desk. Slowly running my fingers over the papers—mostly old gradebooks and newspapers—I looked for something useful.

I found it underneath a coffee mug: a white button with a simple black X. _There you are. _

I reached out with a finger and pressed it lightly.

A wall slid open behind me, making me jump. A small elevator was there, large enough to hold maybe three comfortably. I stepped inside, and the doors slid shut behind me. Looking at the walls, I saw no buttons. Apparently the elevator knew where it was going. Abruptly, I was nervous. _Logan's going to be so mad. _But I hurriedly quashed the nervousness and, as the doors opened again, stepped out into a stainless-steel-plated hallway. My footsteps echoed in the empty hall, despite my sneaker-clad feet. There were round doors spaced along each wall, each marked neatly. I passed two doors marked CLINIC and HANGAR, then moved to another door at the end. It slid open without prompting. That was when things got interesting.

Glass cases were clustered together past that door. Most were empty, but two retained leather suits similar to the ones I fuzzily remembered seeing on Logan the first day I'd met him. I stepped closer. Neatly on the doors were the names JEAN and—oddly enough—CYCLOPS.

I closed my eyes. _Cyclops? _I moved on to the other, currently empty cases. Neatly printed on them were STORM, ICEMAN, SHADOWCAT, ANGEL, BEAST, and WOLVERINE. Storm—Ororo. So that part was true. But who were the others? Iceman and Angel were easy—Bobby and Warren. Shadowcat, though more cryptic, followed—Kitty. But "Beast"? "Wolverine"? "Cyclops"? Who were they? If one was McCoy and one was Logan, who was the third? And why were they nearly all empty? Filing that away as another thing to interrogate Logan about later, I kept walking, down to the second-to-last door.

DANGER ROOM.

_O-kaaaaaaaaaay…definitely worth checking out. I'll come back to that one._

But first, I moved to the last door—for some reason, it held some sort of special fascination for me. This one was blank, and didn't open when I neared it as the other had. A small green beam bleeped into existence, scanning my rib cage.

"_Access denied."_

I stepped back, frowning. Getting into the last two rooms would take a little more thought. I turned, planning to leave, then froze as the door labeled HANGAR opened and Dr. McCoy—in his leather suit—stepped through, looking behind him through the open door.

"Get her to the clinic! Move, move, move!"

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**Cliffie. Mwahaha. No worries, the next chapter will be up soon--there just really wasn't another place to end it! **


	9. Feeling Needed

**Um...yeah. There will be nothing up here except profuse apologies. If you are a saint and/or just plain don't want to listen to me grovel, please skip to the unbolded text.**

**I am SO SO SO SO SO SO SORRY. There are no words. I am not dead. I have simply spent the last three months in various stages of brain fryation (if that's even a word.) So I'll shut up now, and without further ado I give you chapter 9 of Only a Tool!**

* * *

McCoy's ears twitched, and he whirled, his eyes roving wildly. They landed on me.

"What the devil—"

I heard a snarl and then Logan sprinted past him, carrying a small form. Kitty. She seemed unconscious, but I knew she wasn't; I nearly doubled over from a slashing pain in my stomach. Craning my neck, I saw a bloody gash on her abdomen. Bobby, Storm, and Warren followed Logan, ignoring me as they sprinted towards the clinic. I followed. McCoy was already inside, washing his hands as Logan laid Kitty on a cot. The doctor moved forward.

"She gonna be okay?"

Logan's words were nearly unintelligible. McCoy responded without looking up, "I don't know. This looks bad."

Logan growled, then abruptly whirled around. His eyes fastened on me.

_Claw Man. _

In one stride, he had grabbed my wrist, then yanked me nearer to the bed. "Heal her, Aimee!"

"But—"

"HEAL HER!"

Looking into his eyes, I saw an animal. Every alarm in my head was going off, screaming at me to _get away from the predator, now! _I forced myself to remember that this was _Logan,_ who'd saved me more than once, and would never hurt me.

Another stab of pain in my abdomen tore my eyes from his, back to Kitty lying prone on the operating table. McCoy's hands were moving almost too fast to see, but not fast enough. I could tell, even from five feet away, that Kitty was losing too much blood, too quickly.

Jaw setting, I moved to the table and shoved McCoy away, placed a hand on Kitty's stomach, and called on that warm feeling I could feel coalescing in my stomach, urging it through my body and out my fingertips. Visualizing the layers of skin and muscle and how they went together, I saw where Kitty's had been torn, and gently pushed them towards each other, forcing them to fit together again. Once they did, I carefully sped up the growth of tiny muscle fibers, slowing the bleeding. It felt like forever, but probably only took about two or three minutes.

Once I'd done as much I could, I eased myself out of Kitty's body, back into real time. With a gasp, I stumbled backwards, and would have fallen if McCoy hadn't grabbed my arm. As it was, my legs kept threatening to fold, and I locked my knees to keep them from shaking. My spotty vision suddenly registered Warren in front of me, his eyes worried and his mouth moving, though I couldn't hear what he was saying. A glass of something was shoved into my hand, and a chair was placed behind my knees right as they gave up the ghost and collapsed. Robotically, I lifted the glass-laden hand to my mouth, and the sweet-tart taste of orange juice flooded my mouth. My vision slowly began to clear, my fuzzy hearing sharpened, and I no longer felt in danger of fainting. I heard Storm asking anxiously, "Aimee, are you all right?"

"Yeah, I'm okay." The reply came out tired, but thankfully fairly strong. "I just didn't realize how much…it would take out of me." Suddenly, I stiffened. "Is Kitty going to be okay?"

"She'll be fine, thanks to you." That came from McCoy. Turning away, he addressed Storm. "Ororo…we need her on our team."

Storm glared at him. "Hank—"

"Ororo_,_ this was _too close_. Our enemies are getting more dangerous. We need a healer—not just a doctor. If Aimee hadn't been here, Kitty would be _dead_."

"She's too young!"

"Kitty isn't much older."

"Kitty is a special case."

"A special case who almost _died_ today. I _couldn't have saved her,_ Ororo. She would be very, very dead if we hadn't had the only natural healer on the planet on our campus." McCoy's voice was exhausted.

"And why was she even _here? _How did she find out about us?"

"Enough! It doesn't matter how she got here. But doesn't she get a say in all this?" That was Warren. "You're talking about her like she's not even—"

"She's a minor. She _doesn't _get a say," replied Storm acidly.

"So is Kitty, and Bobby, and so was I when I joined. What's your point?" Warren rejoined.

Their individual pain and anger, plus the exhaustion that pervaded the room, was too much for my already shaky shields. "Stop it, please!"

They all instantly shut up. I put my head in my hands. "I want to help, but I need answers first."

"Aimee, I don't think you realize–" Storm.

"Kitty's my friend. All of you are." I looked around the room. "If I can help you, then I need to."

"That's _exactly_ her point, Aimee. Your empathy could _compel_ you to help us. It might not be a choice. And if there's a chance of that, you can't help us." Logan.

"Whether it is a choice or it isn't, Logan, the cat's out of the bag now. Do you really think I could walk away now, knowing what could happen if I don't help you? Do you think I could live with myself?"

"X-Men have _died _before, Aimee!"

"_Then I need to do whatever I can to make sure no _more_ do!"_

"_You can't help us! You'll get yourself killed!"_

I could feel Logan's fear and anger, Bobby's worry for Kitty, and Storm's turmoil—her fear for Kitty, her worry for me, her barely-controlled panic at the thought of losing another teammate. Slowly, though, her innate logic defeated every argument she had. "Logan, we need her."

"No. We've gone over this." His reply was almost a growl.

"Logan, there's no other choice."

"_No." _

"Logan—I have to do this. It's my decision." As the adults continued to argue, I turned towards Kitty, who was stirring. Bobby, who had been staring down at her, looked at me, worry in his eyes. I tried to look reassuring. "She really will be fine, Bobby."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. It wasn't anything Dr. McCoy couldn't have handled, if she hadn't been losing blood so fast."

"Aimee—thanks."

I raised an eyebrow. "Anytime."

He grinned.

"Aimee, come here. Now," came from behind me.

Rolling my eyes—for Bobby's benefit, I assured myself—I turned around.

"Yes?"

"You're sure this is what you want, then you're an X-Man. But you don't go with us till you've thought about it a bit more, and then only if _I _say you're ready to fight with us. You start in the Danger Room tomorrow morning—a private session with me. _Then_ we'll see if you've got what it takes," Logan snarled.

"Fine." This was better than I'd expected to get from Logan.

"But before any of that, I'd like to know how the hell you got in here?" That came from McCoy.

I grinned, slightly guiltily. "Kassandra told me about you. I was angry—I thought maybe…" I stopped. It seemed so childish now.

"Maybe?" Storm asked gently.

I swallowed. "That maybe you could help find who killed my mom. And I was angry that…that, well, you hadn't trusted me."

Storm looked shocked. "Aimee, we don't tell our students until they're graduates—and sometimes not even then. Bobby and Kitty came in because we were desperate."

I nodded. "I know. I don't know what I was thinking."

"But…" she paused. "How much did Kassandra tell you?"

"Not much. Basically that you existed—I don't think the X-men are the great-kept secret you think they are. No one talks about them, apparently, but most people have an idea that all of you are a crime-fighting team of some sort."

She nodded. "We can live with that. But you still haven't told us how you got down here."

I grimaced. "I went to Logan's office, because I know him best. I found the little button on his desk—cool gadget, by the way—and found the elevator. From there, it was pretty easy."

Storm turned. "There are passwords on those for a _reason, _Logan!"

He had the decency to look ashamed. "No one ever goes in there, Storm—I wasn't planning on an angry teenager with too much curiosity for her own good ever gaining access."

She sighed. "Fix it."

"I will."

I frowned. "You've all done a fabulous job of skirting _around _what I want to know. I just have rumors and hearsay—obviously, you do something dangerous. But what is this place? How are people chosen? Who are you fighting?"

Storm opened her mouth, but was cut off by Warren. "I'll tell her, Storm—I know you need to talk to Beast and Logan about that thing we fought today. It might come easier from someone nearer her own age, too."

Storm nodded. Warren grabbed my hand, and pulled me gently towards the door. I resisted, looking back at the table. "Kitty'll be okay, right?"

"She'll be fine," McCoy—Beast—assured me.

Pacified, I allowed myself to be steered out the door.

Once the door slid shut behind us, Warren stopped. "So, what do you want to know?"

"So if McCoy is Beast, I'm assuming Logan is Wolverine?"

He grinned. "Yeah. No one really knows how that got started, but the only ones on the X-Men who didn't really have a nickname were Mr. Xavier and Jean." He shrugged. "Hey, do you mind if I stop by the locker rooms first? These suits may look cool, but they're not very comfortable."

"Sure."

Keeping hold of my hand, he walked towards an apparently blank section of wall. He placed a palm on one of the steel plates, which promptly lit up, and the wall slid open. He sighed. "Wait here—this is the guys' changing room. I'll be quick—don't get into any more trouble."

True to his word, he returned within three minutes, dressed in his usual white T-shirt and jeans. He raised his eyebrows. "Where should I start?"

"Start at the beginning. Who are you guys?"

"The X-men were founded by Charles Xavier as a sort of emergency team. The original four were Jean, Mr. Summers, Mr. Xavier, and Storm. The rest of us joined later, during the fight against Magneto. We protect mutants from humans, from rogue mutants—and from themselves."

_Magneto? _I let that pass. "So you're like the SWAT of mutants? A sort of police force?"

He grinned. "Sorta."

"Wow."

"Yeah. All of us together are pretty formidable."

"Who do you fight, though?"

"Sometimes there are rogue mutants running around, ones that threaten to hurt others or themselves. We…neutralize them."

"Meaning kill."

"_No. _Meaning _neutralize_—if we can." His voice was firm, but sad. "We don't kill unless they leave us no other choice."

"And how often is that?"

He looked down. "Pretty often."

I could sense his dismay, his regret, but also his determination to protect; I couldn't help but admire that.

I touched his arm. "It's okay. Some people…just need to not be in this world. I mean, without you, I'd be dead, or in some government facility with electrodes attached to my head."

He laughed, but it was a bleak sound.

By now, we'd left the lower levels by way of a small elevator that opened onto the garden that contained the Headmaster's grave. I sat down on a bench near it, pulling him down with me. "Warren, I need to ask you something, and I need you to answer it with all honesty."

He looked up, raising his eyebrows. "Sure."

"Do the X-Men need me? Would I be helpful to you?"

He hesitated. I could feel his innate honesty warring with something else I didn't recognize. He exhaled heavily.

"Yes. We do. Beast's a great doctor—the best—but there have been a few too many close calls, especially in the field. Once we're in the clinic, he can do his thing, but we need field healing."

I nodded. "Then I'm an X-Man, if you need me."

He looked me in the eye. "We're glad to have you."

Quickly, I looked away. I'm sure he had meant it, in some surface way, but I could tell he was unhappy. I didn't know why—I'd felt something slightly similar from Logan, but Logan's protectiveness had _felt _different. More…familial. Warren's didn't feel nearly so…platonic.

No. I refused to think about it. Standing abruptly, I murmured something about getting some sleep before my first Danger Room session and hurried away. Once reaching my room, I fell backwards onto my bed with a loud _creak _of springs.

Tomorrow, a new chapter of my life would begin.


	10. A Long Row to Hoe

I knocked on Logan's door at 5: 45 a.m. He met me there, fully dressed, in his usual jeans and wifebeater. He ushered me in with a terse, "Come in."

He punched the button for the elevator as though the button had caused him a great personal affront.

Watching him, I could tell he wasn't any less angry about my decision. But his fury had transferred itself from the dangerous Claw Man to Logan, who could at least control it. As I thought this, I realized how separate the two entities were, yet at the same time intertwined. It both intrigued and frightened me.

By then, we'd reached the door labeled DANGER ROOM. Logan leaned forward and a previously-unseen screen scanned his retina, allowing the door to slide open. He stalked through, leaving me to follow him into an empty, _huge_ room. It was larger than the average ballroom, even, with a high ceiling and the back wall so far away I could hardly see it in the dim light. Stacked to one side were some gymnastics mats, but the rest of the room was a blank, metal rectangle. Looking around, I was beginning to wonder what was going on when Logan barked, "Danger Room, default setting!" I instantly found myself in a city destroyed by nuclear fallout. The acrid smell of smoke filled my nose; the creaking of destroyed houses and the screams of injured people blared in my ears. Thankfully, this street was empty of anything but charred rubble.

"Logan, how—"

"This is why we call it the Danger Room," he growled. "It can simulate any situation we might be in. It's all a hologram, but if a beam falls on you, it can still hurt you. Now, obviously, you'll be our field healer. But you're a burden if one of us has to be looking after you all the time."

His condescension stung. Incensed, I replied hotly, "I can take care of myself!"

"Really?"

I whirled. Behind me was the huge mutant that had attacked me in Houston—Sabertooth? He curled his lip, showing fangs that were most definitely not human. I backed away, almost stumbling over some smoking debris.

"No. You're not real." Frantically, I _reached _out with my sixth sense, surprising myself with the relief I felt when I realized according to it, there was_ no one there._

"Are you sure?"

Without a flicker of warning, he lunged. With a cry of surprise, I flung myself sideways, landing hard on my left side. Rolling to my feet, I took a stance I remembered from my the tae kwon do lessons Marian had made me take—remembering it was equally suited to fighting or running. The words of an instructor I couldn't put a name to came to mind. _"Never engage someone bigger than you, no matter how good a fighter. You get in one good kick to get him down, then run like hell." _Somehow, I didn't think one kick would be sufficient, so I opted for the running part.

Ducking and weaving through the streets, I used my small size to squeeze through places I knew Sabertooth would have trouble with, but I could hear him gaining. With speed born of rising terror, I jumped a heavy beam, then promptly tripped over another, falling hard. Sabertooth landed with his hands on either side of my head. Speechless with terror, I saw his nostrils flare. "You sssmelll soo gooood…"

Fighting back panic, I _shoved _out reflexively, my only thought to get him away. It did that and more, leaving him with a bloody hole in his chest and me with a searing pain in mine. He opened his mouth to roar, but what came out was a blood-choked cough. As my pain subsided, I registered surprise at my lack of urge to heal him. I grimaced as I watched him die, then stumbled away, panicked.

_If this is what Bobby, Kitty, and Warren do, how do they still live normal lives? How do they not relive this, every day, every night? Surely there's a better way?_

Beating back my fear, more practical questions made themselves known. _So…I can't feel him, because he's not really there. But I still feel his pain? How is that fair? And how does the room know what my powers he?_

The hologram of the burning city vanished, leaving me standing in the middle of the Danger Room.

"Good. But you need practice."

I whirled, my fear turning into anger. "You knew exactly which buttons to push, didn't you? But if I couldn't feel him, how did I feel his pain? How did this room know what my powers were? What would you have done if I'd frozen? How can you give me all the disadvantages of my powers, with none of the advantages?"

"The point of the simulation is to experience what you would find hardest to handle, and learn how to deal with it. You did the right thing; there was no possible way you could beat him without injury. You're a field medic, not a warrior, but that stance is good. You're what, a brown belt now?"

I relaxed a little, fury draining away somewhat, and nodded. "Marian made me take tae kwon do lessons when I was younger."

"Good. Your powers, though they obviously _can_ be used for defense, weren't meant to be used so. But we won't have to start from scratch—we just need to adapt your technique to fighting something bigger than you. Kitty can help with that."

I envisioned the tiny girl, fighting against someone like Sabertooth, and was horrified. I almost didn't hear Logan continue.

"You're not huge, but you're strong, and you've already got some potential speed on that frame. Defense is good, but you'll need some attack skills as well."

I considered that. _I guess attacking someone physically is better than with my powers…_but that didn't quell my uneasiness at attacking another person. "What about just running away?"

He snorted. "Trust me, you'll be doing a lot of that. Which is why you'll also run the obstacle course, every day, until your time is faster than the day before. If running is going to be your weapon, you're going to be the best runner in the whole damn state."

Wait. This was _not _the furious Logan, dead set against me becoming an X-man, I'd encountered yesterday. This was not even the still resistant, but resigned Logan he'd been by the time we got to the Danger Room. He now had a sense of…_excitement_ about him. A thrill—at a new challenge, I assumed—a slight relief—probably that I wasn't completely helpless, and a weird pleasure I assumed came from the excitement of having a protégé. I grinned. _I can work with this._

He allowed himself a brief smile, then raised his eyebrows. "So, brush-up on defensive techniques with Kitty and Warren after school, obstacle course at 5:30 _before_ school. You're going to be a tired kid, when I'm done."

I raised my eyebrows. "I think I can handle it."

He raised his eyebrows right back. "We'll see."

"But what about—"

"The Danger Room will wait till _I'm_ satisfied with your progress. My guess would be you'll team up with Warren—he's the fastest. You're not afraid of heights, are you?" His grin became wolfish.

I glowered playfully.

"Bring it on."


	11. Being Incoherent

_A month later_

"Better. Do it again."

I lifted a hand and brushed sweat-slick tendrils of hair out of my face for what felt like the thousandth time, glowering at Logan. He glared right back, his brown eyes hard as rock and about as sympathetic.

Somehow I forced my exhausted legs to bring me back to the start of the obstacle course. I carefully bent my knees into a starting stance, concentrating on not allowing them to buckle.

"Go."

My feet moved before my tired brain had registered the word. Unfortunately, the quarter-second interval between brain and feet almost tripped me. I jerkily recovered my balance and settled into my preferred stride and vaulted the first jagged wall without difficulty. The next hundred yards were virtually flat but covered in rocks that seemed to take a vicious pleasure in tripping me up—I had the skinned knees to prove it. This time, I managed to make it through without too much difficulty. Next came three more walls, each taller than the last, in quick succession. Another three hundred meters of skirting smoking fires and slippery rock showers brought me to the last hurdle; a ten-foot wall with a single rough rope dangling from the top. I lunged for it and grabbed hold.

The rough rope bit into my already chafed hands. Bracing sneaker-clad feet against the smooth metal of the wall, I lifted suddenly leaden arms, grabbed a little higher up the rope, and hauled myself upward.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw a whitish blur which solidified into Warren, standing with Logan. He had his hands clenched in fists and was cheering me on, unaware that I had seen him. I felt his apprehension and excitement for me. On instinct, I _reached _for that feeling, pulled it inside me, and let it revitalize my muscles.

My neurons roared to life; the energy from the feeling sparked a reaction in my impossibly tired muscle fibers. I scrabbled at the top of the wall before catching hold, hauled myself over, and retained just enough presence of mind to slide down the wall feet first. The rope I'd forgotten to let go of burned my hand and I hit the ground with a bone-jarring thud. Instead of trying to keep my feet, I rolled with it, letting the impact dissipate. I struggled to my feet one last time and stumbled to where Logan was waiting.

He looked at his stopwatch. "Seven whole seconds faster than last time. Not bad at all, kid."

I blinked, sure I'd misheard. "_Seven?"_

"Aimes!"

I turned around and barreled into by Warren, who promptly squeezed the breath out of me, then lifted me into the air.

"That was _awesome, _Aimee! You looked like you were flying!"

"…Thanks, Warrnn…"

I could tell I was borderline incoherent. Flatly refusing to take this torture any longer, my legs folded. I would have fallen flat on my face, too tired even to break my fall, if Warren's arms hadn't tightened and kept me semi-upright.

He frowned. "How many times did you do that?"

"Umm…" I looked at Logan for help. The brief spark of energy that had gotten me over the wall was nowhere to be found now; my synapses felt oddly detached.

"Eight."

"_Eight!" _Warren sounded angry. "Logan, are you crazy? Even Bobby and I can't do that more than five or six times. And we have a Danger Room session tomorrow!"

"Good thing it's Saturday, then. She'll be fine—she's tougher than you give her credit for."

Warren snorted. "You're crazy. Both of you." He looked down at me. "You need a shower."

"I nddd a npp."

"Sorry?"

I grimaced; nothing seemed to be working right. "I need a nap," I repeated, carefully enunciating each word. Not that it helped much; it still sounded like garbled mush to my ears.

"What?"

"She said she needs a nap." Thank God for Logan's preternatural hearing. I nodded assent.

"All right, let's get you upstairs." With a huff of breath, he slung me up into his arms, bridal-style. Despite myself, I curled into him, hearing the beat of his heart under my ear.

"I kn wlk."

"Can you, now?"

"'sss."

"Humor me."

As he walked, my foggy brain began to clear, enough to let me shove my screaming muscles to the back of my mind. I began to notice more around me—like how Warren was carrying me no noticeable effort. I'd grown about an inch and a half since coming to Xavier's, and was now about five-nine. In the past year, I'd also put on at a lot of flat muscle, especially in the shoulders. I would never be bulky, but there was no fat on me. But with that mass had come weight. I was compact but solid. And here Warren was, not even breathing hard.

While he obviously wasn't exerting himself, the muscles of his arms and chest remained well-defined—made doubly obvious by the fact that he wasn't wearing a shirt. He must have just come from sparring. _Nice view…_ To distract myself from this slightly disturbing thought, I poked his chest.

"Warren, put me down. 'M heavy."

"Don't worry about it. Storm went easy on us today to be ready for the Danger Room session tomorrow. Though Bobby and I got to work on some partner stuff, it was great."

"Yeah? Like what?"

"He was wondering if there was any way that I could lift someone above the fighting in order to implement mutations from above. It turns out, it's a great idea—but only in theory, he's blasted heavy."

I laughed. "And Colossus would be even worse."

"Definitely. I guess I could drop him, like a bomb."

It was a weak joke, but I snickered anyway. He chuckled with me, and his chest vibrated under my ear. For some reason, that fascinated me.

"Dude, you sound like you're purring."

"What?" I could hear the confusion and amusement in his voice.

"Your chest, when you laugh." I knew I wasn't making much sense and that I would probably regret this later, but the sensible part of my brain was being drowned beneath the tired-hyper blanket of the rest of it.

"OK?" He chuckled.

I grumbled. "Never mind."

He snorted. "You're funny when you're tired."

I rolled my head up to look at him. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. I'm not sure I've ever seen you this uninhibited."

"What do you mean?" I asked, becoming a little more focused.

He paused. "Well, you're usually pretty distant. It's not a bad thing, just the way you are. And when you're tired, you're more random and … friendlier, I guess."

I frowned vaguely. "Sorry."

"Don't be. It's just who you are. I wouldn't change you, Aimes."

I looked into his clear, honest baby blues. "Thanks, Warren. That means a lot."

He held my gaze for a moment, then looked away.

"Here we are."

We'd reached my door. He relaxed his arms, swinging my legs down till I was standing upright.

"Oh." I fumbled. "Thanks."

"Sure."

We stood there awkwardly. I searched for something to say.

"Well…see you at dinner?"

"Yeah."

"Great."

I grinned, hoping to break the tension. "Thanks for the ride."

Before I could lose my nerve, I reached forward and wrapped my arms around him. The cool, downy softness of his feathers brushed against my fingers.

He started a little, then wrapped his arms around my shoulders and squeezed.

I murmured against his chest, "Thanks, Warren. For everything."

I heard rather than saw his smile. "Anytime."

I released him, then turned, opened my door, and scooted into my room. I closed the door firmly behind me and leaned against it.

_What just happened?_

Before I could think too much more, I was out like a light.

* * *

**Er...yeah. So, I'm a terrible person that deserves to be attacked with penknives. In my defense, I had this written about a month ago, but my poor beta has been busy...so I just got this back about an hour ago. The next one will be written by next week! Thank you so much, all of you, for the reviews. I hope you liked this one!  
**


	12. Waiting

**So...yeah. If you're still reading, you're a saint. This was ready a while ago, but my beta was busy XP. **

**Nevertheless, she is awesome, so kudos to berneynator, my beta. **

**I do not own X-Men or any of the attendant characters.**

**Enjoy!  
**

* * *

_BZZZT!_

"_Aaah!"_

I shot up out of my bed, scrabbling at my jeans pocket.

_BZZZT!_

"_X-men, to Hangar. X-men, to Hangar."_

I pulled the walkie-talkie-type-thing that Logan had given me a few days ago out of my pocket and clicked the button on the side. "Aimee, checking in. On my way."

"_Hurry."_

I thumbed it off and lunged for the door. Stumbling out, I nearly ran headlong into Kassandra.

"Hey Ames, what's—"

"Can'ttalkgottagoseeyoulaterbye!"

I caught a flash of hurt, which morphed into a vicious anger. I grimaced. She was now the only member of our group not an X-man, and she was feeling the separation already. I would need to talk to her later.

I sprinted to Logan's office. He held the elevator door for me and I nearly ran into him. I pressed myself against the wall—forget an elevator built for three, it was an elevator built for Logan. And no one else.

Thankfully, the ride was short. We jogged towards the cases, where Storm and Beast were waiting, already dressed in their suits. Storm grimaced.

"Aimee, we don't have—"

Logan passed me, flung open the case marked JEAN, and tossed me the suit inside. "Be careful with it, kid."

I felt Storm's surprise and wheeled around. "Are you—"

She shrugged and smiled. "Go change, girl."

I headed for the locker room.

If there was a land-speed record for getting into a tight leather suit, I'm betting I broke it. I passed Kitty on my way out, and she fell into step with me. "You ready, girlfriend?"

I grinned. "I hope so, Kit."

Warren joined us—his pure white wings a stark contrast against the black-and-red of his suit—and we hurried into the hangar.

I followed the two into a sleek silver jet, barely keeping my teeth together. The X-men had obviously not stinted on _anything._

"Jeesh."

Warren chuckled.

"You've seen it before, you were just passed out at the time."

I rolled my eyes. He guffawed as we strapped ourselves into our seats. Looking around, I saw Mr. Wagner crouched in a corner, holding what looked like a dark metal crucifix and moving his lips quickly. He wasn't wearing a suit—rather, he was wearing the dark trench coat I'd first met him in-but fear rolled off him.

I leaned over. "Are you all right?"

He looked up. "Yes. I just hate flying." He grinned weakly.

I smiled back. "It'll be over soon."

He closed his eyes.

As McCoy, the last of us, came barreling inside and threw himself into his seat, Storm threw the controls. The jet rose straight up—though it left my stomach firmly implanted on the ground. It then shot forward, shoving us back into our seats.

I looked over at Kurt again. His navy skin had taken on a distinctly greenish tinge. I asked timidly, "Isn't your mutation like flying? Why do you have such a problem with it?"

He returned through gritted teeth, "With my mutation, you are _here_ one moment and _there _the next. There is no in-between. I still hate flying."

I smiled, amused against my will. I carefully shut down my link with him—his fear and motion sickness were making _me_ nauseous.

Storm's voice crackled over the loudspeaker, and Kitty snickered as I jumped.

I glared at her, missing the beginning of Storm's speech._ "…an unidentified band of hostile mutants hunting a potential mutant. We've got a pyro, a porter, a speedy, an invisible, what looks like a feral, and a couple thugs—probably increased strength."_

I raised my eyebrows. _What scares me is I actually understood all that. _

_The pyro and feral are their main offense. Bobby, you're on the defensive for the pyro. I can help with that. Logan, you're on the feral—obviously. Aimee, you're the only one able to track the invisible. Take Warren and Kitty with you. Kurt, neutralize the porter. Beast, you're with me grabbing the possible—making sure she's okay. Any questions?"_

Silence.

"_Alright then. Let's kick some mutant ass."_

_"LOGAN!"_

I grinned at Logan's tension-breaker and leaned back in my seat, wriggling to find a comfortable way to sit in the tight leather suit.

Finally settling, I closed my eyes and cast my _other_ sense out, re-familiarizing myself with the ins and outs of the team's auras. If I was to find someone running around invisible, I needed to be able to match auras to bodies and find the one that was seemingly unattached.

Starting at the front of the plane, I ran into Storm's swirling aura—a murky silver, with a steely glint. Her feelings were as taut as badly tuned guitar strings, but that was pretty normal for her; I didn't know how she avoided having a nervous breakdown on a regular basis. Her uptightness was only augmented by my presence, which stung a little. I hadn't fought yet, but surely I deserved _some_ trust. Still, I couldn't blame her much—she was the team mother, with all the attendant worries.

Next to her—Logan. His mind was totally businesslike, expressly focused on keeping the jet perfectly on course. This was routine for him, but his feral half yearned for the fight to come. I could almost feel his wrists flexing, the smooth metal straining to slip from their sheaths beneath the skin. I took a little of that feeling, drawing it into myself, burning away the last of residual grogginess from my afternoon nap.

A little farther back, poor Kurt crouched in the corner, muttering prayers over his well-worn crucifix. His smoky gray aura was tinged with a sickly green, making me nauseous, but past that was a warmth that I hadn't expected from the teleporting mutant. His feelings for Storm, especially, were not something I'd expected, though perhaps I should have—I recalled our conversation when I'd first come to Xavier's. He fought because of a deep sense of justice, a feeling of obligation, but also as Storm's protector. I filed that away, wishing I could have forgotten it. I still wasn't happy about the tidbits that I got from this sort of reconnaissance—it felt unnecessarily intrusive.

Directly behind me, Bobby and Kitty were so close that their auras swirled together, but I knew them well enough to distinguish even in a crowd. Kitty's flickered like a light bulb about to go out—half hypnotic, half maddening. _Kind of like her, _I thought wryly. Bobby's, by contrast, was a cool, calm lake, sheathed in a skin of ice. The perfect counterpoint to Kitty's chaotic nature, he was trying to center himself—but ironically, he drew his calm from the tiny firework leaning on his shoulder. I rolled my eyes behind my eyelids and felt my heart melt a little. The pair of them were so perfect for each other, it was ridiculous.

Next to them—no one. My eyes flew open. "Where's Pete?"

A chuckle came over the intercom. _"He's got a pulled tendon in his leg. The good doctor put him on the bench for this one."_

I frowned. Colossus's stolid, steady character had always kept my nerves from getting too jumpy. He was rather taciturn, but a wonderful friend, and surprisingly good at pre-cal. He was a great teacher, too. I already missed his firm foundation.

Beast was on my right side. I'd never managed a good read on him, for some reason. I got a profound sadness at the need for this trip—the doctor was nothing if not a pacifist—but a firm determination to see it through. His brows were furrowed, almost as though he was counting.

Finally, I directed my focus at Warren. His aura was a pale, pale blue, but at the same time so bright it hurt my "eyes". I envied him his relaxation—this had become enough of a routine for him to be (almost) fun. He was ready to kick mutant ass, as Logan had put it. I opened my eyes, casting a surreptitious glance over at him. He tapped long fingers on the leather armrest, a solid _thump-thump _beat to go along with Kurt's muttered prayers in the otherwise silent plane. He glanced back over at me, pale blue eyes under short gold eyelashes, and his aura darkened slightly. I caught a flash of the same protectiveness I'd felt from Seth, that day that Marian had died, with a tinge of something else. Something that didn't feel quite platonic. I flushed, and the nubby gray carpet on the floor of the jet suddenly became very interesting. I _felt_ him smile. Smug bastard.

_WHAM!_

I was thrown against my seat straps, the metal buckle digging into my stomach. I exchanged shocked looks with Warren.

The loudspeaker crackled to life. _"Sorry, folks. Looks like the pyro's decided he doesn't want us here. It'll be a bit of a bumpy landing." _

I rolled my eyes. Lovely. Another drunken pitch of the plane cut off the sarcastic comment on the tip of my tongue. The nose tipped forward alarmingly. I gaped out the window to my right, and my eyes widened.


	13. First Test

I don't know how Logan got that plane on the ground safely, but Jesus, I was either never letting him fly again or making him do it every time.

I attempted to say something coherent, but only vague expletives came out as I unbuckled from my seat. Kitty grabbed my hand, and I barely closed my mouth in time to avoid a mouthful of jet wall.

Bursting through the other side in concert with Bobby and Kitty, I surveyed the battlefield.

A set of about fifteen mutants, all a bit scraggly but no less malicious for it, formed a loose half circle facing the jet door. _Damn_. A small figure, curled on its side, lay off to the left. I saw red. The jet door began to open, and a rat-faced, dishwater blond boy's hand burst into flame, only waiting for an opening.

Cursing, I hid behind the plane, while Bobby and Kitty headed for the group.

Bobby shot a jet of ice at the leader. The air became heavy, crackling with electricity—Storm's work. Warren shot out of the half-opened door, and I instantly understood the name on his uniform case. He truly did look like an avenging angel, all snowy wings, flying golden hair, and black covering, surrounded by a halo of lightning.

I heard Logan's rough growl. _"Down, Aimee!"_

I hit the ground before I had time to think, product of Logan's endless drilling. I felt a surge of heat pass over my back, singing the hairs on the back of my neck. I rolled to my feet and began matching auras to faces.

The most obvious was the rat-faced pyro who'd just tried to fry me. His aura flickered and shimmered like flames, but not the warmth of a hearth fire—rather the mad, all-consuming ferocity of a forest-killer. This boy could take down cities without a blink of conscience.

As I looked for a reasonably good place to scope out the enemy, Firebug shot another jet at me, this time getting close enough to sting my cheek. I sprinted for a ring of boulders that would make good cover just as Warren swooped down to distract Firebug. I grinned as I heard the _thunk-crunch_ of a face shot. It was then that I realized I didn't hear Kitty behind me._ Crap._

I felt pressure around my ankles, then I inexplicably ate dirt with a stinging thud. Rolling to my feet and spitting grass out from between my teeth, I received the same treatment again. This time, I stayed down, searching for the mutant who'd snuck up on me.

It didn't take long to locate my assailant. Her aura was baby blue—presumably the invisible, walking towards my head. I waited.

When she got close enough, I kicked out. I caught her with a messy shot to the ankles, and she fell with a shocked cry. I lunged on top of her, reaching blindly for her wrists. A neon green blur—apparently a speedy—then jumped on _my_ back, yanking, scratching and biting for all she was worth. Assailed from all sides, I yelled out.

"_A LITTLE HELP OVER HERE?"_

Almost before I'd finished speaking, Logan yanked the speedy off of me.

I cursed. "What happened to Kitty and Warren?"

"Warren's a bit occupied with the pyro, and Kitty had to go help Bobby. Sorry about that."

I glared at him. "Thanks."

He chuckled as he led the speedy—a dark-haired, dark-skinned girl with hair pulled back from her face—away.

After a bit of wrestling, I got the invisible pinned—she was about my size, but Logan's training had paid off; I kept her down without trouble. She flickered in and out of view, leaving me with a bit of a headache—like watching a TV with bad reception. She felt terrified, of both me and someone else. I was pretty sure she hadn't done this willingly.

I felt a hand on my back, accompanied by a soft "I got her, Aimee."

I carefully rolled off her, letting Warren replace me. He gently pulled her to her feet. "Sorry about leaving you like that. You all right?"

"Fine. Thanks for asking." My voice came out a little drier than I'd meant it to, but he didn't seem offended. He turned his attention to the invisible, who was crying.

"I d-d-didn't m-mean to…h-h-e m-made me…"

I cringed at her anguish. "Warren—"

He turned, eyes questioning.

I grimaced. "I'm pretty sure she was coerced. Go easy on her, please?"

He nodded.

"Aimee!"

I turned away, looking for the source of my name. I saw Storm kneeling by the little shape I'd seen huddled on the ground earlier and hurried towards her. McCoy got there first and began feeling for injuries.

"She's not waking up. Can you tell what's wrong?" Storm asked, obviously concerned.

"She'll be fine." He didn't look at her, still busily probing and palpating.

As I got closer, a sharp pain echoed through my skull. Blinking away the black spots that had formed on my vision, I made a beeline for Dr. McCoy.

"She's got a concussion, doctor."

He looked up. "I had about come to the same conclusion. Is it serious?"

I nodded. "She needs help _now—_she's bleeding inside her brain. It's spreading dangerously fast_._ I can do it."

He hesitated. "The human brain is very fragile—"

"I know that. But I don't want her to become a vegetable on the way to the clinic, either! I can at least stop the pooling and heal the bruising." His lack of confidence infuriated me. Hadn't he taught me himself?

Instantly, I felt horrible. I knew the fight had stressed my control, but a single glimpse of the doctor's aura told me he was only concerned for the girl, not doubting my abilities. He was deeply worried, and my anger wasn't helping.

He closed his eyes, heaved a sigh, and acknowledged the logic in my words. "Go ahead."

I dropped to my knees beside the girl. Under the bruises, she had a pretty face, and looked maybe ten or eleven years old. I placed my fingers gently on her forehead and closed my eyes, trusting McCoy and Storm with my back if any residual resistance came our way.

Her aura was a pretty pale green, like mint chocolate chip ice cream. But a sour green-brown area encased a small portion of her head, which in normal vision was coated in clotted blood that soaked the ground.

Feeling gently for breaks in the skull, I found none—thankfully, she was just bruised, though badly. The blood was coming from a shallow cut in her scalp, most likely made by some kind of boot. I suppressed rage at the person who would do this to a little girl.

Though the bone wasn't broken, the bleeding inside her brain would quickly become critical. I carefully began healing her, pulling some of the girl's energy to do it—most of my own was going into the careful control necessary for head wounds.

When I judged her stable, I opened my eyes and sat back on my heels. "She'll have a wicked headache and need to stay in bed for a few days, but she'll be OK."

McCoy nodded, lifted the girl, and headed for the plane, followed by Storm.

I heard a scuffling behind me, followed, by Kitty's _"No, _Bobby!"

I turned to see Bobby lunging for the pyro's unconscious form, held back by Warren and with Kitty shoving back on his chest.

"He's not worth it. Come on, let's go."

"_Bastard _betrayed us…"

"Bobby, it's done. Forget about it."

He closed his eyes and heaved a huge breath. "You can let go now, Warren."

Warren snorted and let him go, keeping a careful eye on him to make sure he didn't lunge again.

Bobby turned towards the plane as well, with an arm wrapped around Kitty's waist. I watched them go. "Everyone all right, Warren?"

"Yeah. A few bruises here and there, and Bobby's a bit singed, but nothing serious."

"Wha—"

"Not now."

I raised my eyebrows at Warren. He raised his own right back at me.

I subsided, unused to a terse Warren.

* * *

The trip back was uneventful, with the little girl passed out in Beast's lap and the invisible in a fetal position, hands wrapped around her knees, rocking back and forth. Warren took charge of her as we got off, and I headed for the clinic with McCoy to provide any needed help. Eventually he waved me off to change, telling me the little girl wouldn't wake for at least six hours.

I stepped out of the locker room, scrubbed and in clean clothes, and nearly ran straight into Warren again, also clean and dressed.

"Hey."

"Hey. How's the girl?"

"She'll be all right. At this point, we're more worried about psychological issues than physical ones. How's the invisible?"

"Pretty much the same. Looks like John blackmailed her into it."

"John?"

"John Allerdyce—the pyro. He used to go to Xavier's, then turned on us when we fought against Magneto." He paused. "He was Bobby's best friend."

I sucked a breath in through my teeth. "That's awful."

"Yeah. I didn't know him that well, but he's a mean bastard, unless he likes you—and Bobby was the only one he seemed to like. Bobby was the only restraining force on him, other than the Headmaster." He rotated his shoulder, wincing.

Instantly my _other_ sense snapped into place, and I felt a phantom pain in my shoulder—or rather, in his shoulder. Before I could ask, Warren restlessly flicked his wing forward. The previously white feathers were charred black, the skin underneath them an angry, blistered red.

"What happened?"

He grimaced. "I was stupid—let him get underneath me. It'll be fine. I was about to go to Doc for some painkillers."

"Here, let me get it."

He gripped my wrist before I could touch his wing. "I don't want you to overstress yourself. You've already done enough today."

I rolled my eyes. "I'll be pulling your energy—it's not a problem. You shouldn't have to deal this kind of discomfort. Besides, it'll get infected."

I pulled my wrist from his grip and carefully ran my fingers through his feathers, moving them away from the burn. The outer layer was sharp and smooth, but the underlayer was silky soft. His breath hissed out between his teeth in pain as I carefully smoothed away the last layers of down from around the wound.

"Sorry!" I winced. "I didn't mean—"

"It's fine," came a strangled hiss between clenched teeth.

Biting my lip, I let my fingertips hover directly above the burn. Before anything else I numbed it, blocking his pain receptors. A relieved sigh let me know that the pain was starting to subside.

Next I moved to the blisters, carefully letting the fluid drain back into his body. Then I moved on to the crisped skin, making new skin grow beneath the dead, which sloughed off onto the floor. Warren's shoulder twitched. "That feels really weird."

"Like there's something crawling on you. I know."

"Yeah!" He seemed relieved I understood. His wing twitched again. "It _tickles!"_

My jaw dropped. "You're ticklish?"

"Yeah—_ungh!"_

My fingers had moved to the joints between wing and shoulder, and stroked. He grunted and grabbed my fingers again. "Are you_ done?"_

I snickered. "Yeah, I'm done. But you are _never_ living that down."

He growled. "I'll get you for that."

With a speed that belied the fact that he'd just fought a battle and undergone a fairly intensive healing, he lunged.

I shrieked as he moved, snagging me around the waist with his good arm and hauling me sideways. My feet left the floor and I yelled again, this time louder.

"Put me _down, _Warren—oof!"

My helpless laughter echoed off the metal walls, accompanied by his unmerciful chuckle. I wiggled, helpless under the onslaught, until my stomach muscles burned from laughing.

"Truce! Truce!" I gasped out, hardly able to breathe. He carefully set me back down and I punched him not-so-gently in the ribs.

"You're evil."

"You started it."

I rolled my eyes. "Not fair. You're bigger than me."

"Doesn't stop you against Colossus. I saw you in sparring the other day. Nice takedown, by the way."

"Thanks!" I grinned happily. I hadn't realized he'd been watching, but it meant a lot that he had. I'd always loved martial arts competitions, even before I'd come to Xavier's—both the feeling of winning and the congratulations of friends.

A silence fell between us as we headed to the elevator, but it was a comfortable one. As we headed out into the garden, about to go our separate ways, I touched his arm.

"Don't do anything too strenuous with that wing for the next few days. It needs to rest. And—

"And go to Doc if I need anything." He rolled his eyes.

"I guess you've heard that before."

He nodded. "Hey, Aimee—" I stopped, about to turn away.

"Yeah?"

He scuffed a sneaker-clad foot on the cobblestones.

"There's a showing of the _Rocky Horror Picture Show_ this weekend—it's almost Halloween, and they're getting a head start. I was wondering…if you wanted to go with me."

I was speechless. "Really?"

He flushed again. "Yeah? I mean, why not? If you think it's stupid—"

"I _LOVE _the _Rocky Horror Picture Show_!"

He smiled incredulously. "Really? I mean, I thought you did, because I saw you wearing that T-shirt a few days ago, but I thought—"

"I'd love to go with you!"

His pale blue eyes lit up. "Great! So I'll meet you in the entrance hall on…Friday? At eight?"

My stomach fluttered. "Th-that's perfect."

His grin, if it was possible, got bigger. "Great. See you in class tomorrow."

As he faded into the growing twilight, I sank down onto the cold marble bench that we'd had our first real talk on and heaved a sigh. _Did he just ask me on a date? I think he did._

I let out a strangled giggle, half excited, half hysterical—I was coming off an adrenaline crash and needed either food or sleep.

As I stumbled towards the dorms, I suppressed a squeal and jumped up and down, surprising even myself. I couldn't wait for tomorrow.


	14. Mind Control

"The Mutant Registration Act of 2007 attempted to require all mutants to be registered. _Xavier v. Ryan_, a court case contesting its constitutionality, made it all the way to the Supreme Court, where it was not tried and the law repealed. What can you tell me about the politics surrounding that decision?" Storm paused. "Aimee?"

I started. I'd been up since five that morning, it was right after lunch, and the room was warm—I'd been drowsing. "I'm sorry, Storm, could you repeat the question?"

She quirked one eyebrow wryly. "What do you know about the general politics regarding the decision in _Xavier v. Ryan?"_

Scrabbling for the memories of last night's reading, I recounted, "Senator Aidan Ryan attempted to push the Act through Congress, on the grounds that mutants were dangerous. He took up the cause after its progenitor, Robert Kelly, was found in a coma. Ryan's case was furthered by the apprehension of the mutant Mystique, while impersonating Kelly. Charles Xavier opposed the Act, and took it all the way to the Supreme Court. The Chief Justice, Sean Cassidy, had a daughter who was showing signs of being a mutant. He…convinced," I said slowly—actually, he had scared—"Ryan into dropping the case. His daughter since _has _proved to be a mutant, and has a heck of a scream, if I may say so."

The entire class snickered. Theresa Cassidy, known by most of us as Siryn, had a sonic scream capable of blowing away walls. The last time she'd pulled one, I'd been healing eardrums—a fiddly and slightly messy job—for days. The fact that she was thirteen, and occasionally prone to tantrums, made it sure to happen again.

Storm's aura lightened in amusement, though her face remained impassive; she nodded. "Thank you, Aimee." Continuing, she queried, "If this was ever made public knowledge, it would likely be re-tried. Supposing it was, what are some arguments for both sides?"

Kassandra flicked up a hand. Storm looked surprised—Kass almost never volunteered information in class—but called on her anyway.

"We all have a right to privacy." Kassandra spoke around her gum. "The government doesn't make people register their blood types, or their fingerprints—unless they're criminals. So in essence, that law treats us as criminals before we've done anything wrong."

Storm nodded. "That's one way to look at it. Anyone else?"

This time, Bobby raised his hand. Storm gave him the floor.

"Mutants who go rogue can be extremely dangerous. An idea of what they can do might be a good idea—as a precautionary measure."

Scoffing, Kassandra retorted, "Then mark them down when they're arrested!"

Storm turned a cold glare on her. "Bobby is speaking."

Kassandra huffed and sank lower in her chair. Storm looked back to Bobby. He shrugged. "I was pretty much done anyway."

"Anyone else?"

No one spoke.

Storm didn't like that. "Since this obviously requires more thought, we'll have an in-class paper tomorrow on the pros and cons of the Mutant Registration Act. I suggest you brush up."

Kassandra squawked. "Storm!"

"You heard me."

"No one in this room thinks that law was a good idea—including you! We all agree! Why are you making us do more work on this?"

The air crackled. "You have a problem, Kassandra?"

"Damn straight I do!" Kassandra raked matte black nails through her curly dyed-black hair. "The Act was _wrong._ End of story."

Daniel Yoon, a teleporter and a bit of a snark, snorted. "You'd make a terrible politician."

Kassandra turned to him, an unhealthy glow lighting her eyes. "Problem, _Chino?"_

"Kass!" That was Bobby.

"Kassandra, if you cannot respect your classmates—"

This wasn't right. _She shouldn't be this angry._ I reached out tentatively, seeing the same unhealthy glow lighting her usually hot-pink aura. "Kass—"

"I'm so_ sick_ of this! Why should we try to _understand _them? They don't try to understand us!" Her voice climbed in both volume and pitch.

"Kassandra." Storm spoke slowly. "Calm down."

I saw the flicker of flame before anyone else did. _"Bobby!"_

I dove across the desks, getting jabbed painfully in the hip as I tackled her to the floor. Her jet of flame went wide, heading for the ceiling. The burning _whoosh_ as it flashed past my left ear reminded me uncomfortably of John Allerdyce. Bobby coated the area around us in ice as Storm hustled the rest of the kids out of the room.

I wrestled her to the ground with an uncomfortable sense of déjà vu. Her hands coated in ice, she lay still and our eyes met. Her usually muddy brown irises were confused. "Wh-what's going on?"

I lit out. "You almost fried everyone in this _room,_ Kass! Over a _class discussion!" _

"What? No. I didn't…"

I huffed out a disbelieving breath and rolled off her, checking out her aura again. That unhealthy light was gone, leaving only her occasionally volatile but mostly harmless self.

I stood, then helped her up. Bobby moved up behind me and pulled on her other wrist. She straightened her black-and-pink plaid skirt, and then looked at Bobby and I again. "I – it wasn't me. The last thing I remember is thinking Storm's question was stupid."

There it was. Kassandra was obviously back, if indeed she'd ever been gone.

Storm entered just as Kassandra swayed. "I feel sick. I'm gonna go lie down."

"Bobby, go with her. Aimee, collect the others and meet in Logan's office."

He obeyed, shooting me a look. I nodded silently.

I stood aside to let them leave. Kassandra walked steadily, but with the unmistakable care of someone attempting not to fall.

"What on earth was that?"

Kitty stood in the doorway, hands on her hips.

I grimaced. "Haven't the foggiest. Kass got on her high horse about the MRA, of all things. I mean, it's a touchy subject, but…"

"Shouldn't have set her off." Warren appeared behind Kitty. "You catch anything, Aimes?"

I rubbed my forehead. "Yeah. And that's what confuses me. There was this weird _presence _in her aura_,_ something that didn't belong with Kass. It was…weird," I finished lamely. "Like a moss or a fungus or something, just underneath. If she hadn't been acting so strange—even for her—I wouldn't have noticed it, because I wouldn't have been looking."

Warren frowned. "This is a mystery. And I don't like mysteries."

"Mind control?" offered Kitty.

I shook my head. "Maybe, but…no. The idea of overreacting isn't abnormal for Kassandra. It was like someone took that tendency and amplified it, rather than putting a new thought in her brain." I paused, then continued: "But I've never been in contact with someone who can control minds, so I really don't know." I spread my hands. "On this one, I'm lost."

We were all silent for a minute, then Kitty looked around. "Where's Storm?"

"Talking with the others. We're supposed to meet them in Logan's office."

"Shouldn't we check on Kassandra?"

"Nah." Warren demurred. "Bobby can take care of himself. But keep tabs anyway, 'kay?"

As we left the room together, Warren rested an arm across my shoulders in a half-hug. I stiffened a moment, then relaxed—he was warm, and I was a bit shaken. We walked like that all the way to Logan's office.

Xxxx

As I explained to Logan, Colossus, Dr. McCoy, and Kurt what had happened, it occurred to me that their expressions would have been humorous if the situation hadn't been so worrying. Even Logan seemed unnerved, a first for him.

"…and I've never seen her aura look like that. It was…amplified, but not in a good way. Like someone took her emotions and focused them. Like a magnifying glass—but with a bit of refraction along the way. Kass is a bit volatile, but not like that," I finished.

"If it happens again, intentional or not, we can't keep her here." Storm rubbed her forehead. "I won't risk the other students."

I was silent. I didn't like the idea of any mutant being sent away, but Storm was right. What if it had been Siryn? Or if Leda, the little air walker we'd saved a few weeks ago, had been in the room? There were too many children at Xavier's.

Pondering this as the conversation continued, I wondered when I'd stopped counting myself as a child. I mean, I was still a legal minor—I'd passed my seventeenth birthday about a month ago—but I felt oddly protective now of the little ones, and even those that weren't so little anymore. I'd unconsciously begun considering myself an adult. It wasn't surprising once I thought about it, but it was still a bit unsettling.

Kitty nudged me. "You look like you've been bitten by a mildly distasteful idea," she murmured. "Spill."

I shook my head. "I'm an adult. That's so weird."

She snickered. Warren looked at us inquiringly, but I rolled my eyes and mouthed _tell you later._

He raised his eyebrows and turned back to the conversation.

"…so it's either that she's gone off the deep end—which is possible—or we've got an anti-Aimee on our hands." That was Logan, ever so delicate.

"What tasteful options." Kurt, quiet but dry.

I interjected, "What if it's the second? I mean…I feel emotions. I don't have control over them. And if I did have control over how people felt, then I'd be…well, unstoppable."

Logan snorted. "You're exaggerating, kid."

I snapped, "No, I'm not. Logan, take you, for example. You have a whole different mindset when you go feral – I've felt it. What if this mutant could loosen your control just enough that you'd go apecrap on a kid who screwed up in karate? You could do serious damage. Anyone with any kind of anger issues could—which, honestly, means most of the kids on campus. They all have _some_ issue, or they wouldn't be here. You can make anger out of anything. Trust me," I finished wryly, "I know. And worse, it would be very, very difficult to detect."

Storm rubbed her forehead again, faster now. "No, no. We don't need another Jean."

A collective sigh rushed around the group, me with them. I'd recently learned the story of my suit's former owner, and it wasn't a pretty one. I finished with, "And she could just mess with minds. Emotions are much more primal—easier to incite, harder to overcome."

I turned to McCoy, who'd been remarkably quiet during the whole conversation. He shrugged helplessly. "I have the same issues as Logan—just on a smaller scale; we're both feral mutants. Thankfully, I've learned better control as a doctor. I'm not on the radar as aggressive, particularly."

Storm sighed. "We have to pull in. Aimee, I'm asking you to keep your senses on high alert. Focus on high-risk targets—dangerous mutations or the kids with anger or abandonment issues."

I nodded. "Also, I'd stick Pete with the younger danger zones for a while. They all like him, and nobody can do him any real damage." I turned to our favorite Russian; he rumbled softly that he was amenable.

"Also." Storm sighed. "Smaller contingents for missions."

"…Storm…" I said slowly. "I can't be here…_and_ out there…"

"I know. You'll alternate with McCoy. Or—make that every three."

"Storm!"

"Aimee, you're our first line of defense on the _inside._ We need to stop this, and we need to stop this now. It's only temporary," she continued in a more placating tone.

Though I didn't like it, I had to agree. Until we'd found out what was causing this, I needed to be on constant watch. I tamped down residual disappointment—it was reasonable, but it had no place here.

"…So, is that it? I mean, I've got martial arts with the _korotyshka_s in a few minutes."

"Yes, Colossus, go ahead."

The soft-spoken man, so incongruous with how huge he was, ducked quietly out of the room. Warren and I were about to leave together, when Logan called for me to wait.

"I'll wait for you," murmured Warren, and slipped out, closing the door behind him.

Turning to Logan, who was settling behind his desk, I leaned against the wall. "What's up, Logan?"

"Just wanted to address your conduct on the battlefield."

I raised my eyebrows. "Logan…I've been in combat for four months now. You haven't mentioned this before."

"It hasn't been an issue before."

I gestured silently for him to continue.

He sighed. "You can't always expect backup. You seem to have taken that to heart—a little too well. You don't have to be a hero, Aimee. Your job is to help people who are hurt. I know it takes it out of you to use your mutation offensively.

"I don't," I replied. "Logan…I've seen you in your battle fever. It's scary, but it's fascinating. I don't mind fighting—I don't. And I've never used my mutation offensively, except once—this last time."

"You were stupid and you let yourself get pinned, and you threw up for a half hour straight after."

"I'll be more careful."

"Don't let it happen again."

Properly chagrined, I mumbled something contrite and headed for the door.

"But kid—"

I turned expectantly.

"Pretty fast running."

I grinned as I left.


	15. Why We Fight

**Hi you guys! Sorry I've been kinda AWOL. I hope you liked that last chapter-and thank you to kaelan, my only reviewer! As always, anything you recognize is not mine; Aimee is, as is Kassandra. This is a bit filler but I feel like it's necessary. Thank you bunches to my quintessentially awesome beta, berneynator!**

* * *

Warren was leaning against the wall when I left Logan's office, his wings fanned out behind him. "What did he want?" he asked, as we began walking down the hall together.

"Just lectured me on being a little more careful."

"He's right, you know."

"Yeah…I know. It's just…" I blew a few strands of hair out of my face. "I feel the other side too, Warren. Their fear, their anger—not just their pain."

"Can you handle it?" Protectiveness tinged his tone.

"Yes!" I replied hastily. The last thing I needed was Warren—one of my earliest advocates—thinking I was a wimp. "It just makes me a little careless, and Logan took me down a notch. That's all," I finished, slinging a hand around his waist. His arm came around my shoulders automatically, and we walked in silence for a moment.

"I should probably go check on Kass. I need to tell her about this."

"What? We don't know anything. Don't panic people."

"She's the first casualty, and she's an older kid. I can't do this alone, Warren—or even with the X-Men for help, there aren't enough of us. We need to enlist the older kids, and that starts with Kass. I'd tell her anyway; she deserves to know what happened to her. So I'm going to talk to her."

His brow furrowed. "Not alone."

"Warren."

"Coerced or not, she's got issues. You're not going alone. I'll go with you," he declared.

"I'm not a china doll."

"No. You're my…friend," he finished. "Take it or leave it."

I rolled my eyes.

Softly knocking on Kassandra's door, I was unsurprised when I got no answer. I carefully tried the knob; she hadn't locked it. Reaching out with my empathy found that she felt stable, but not dormant—she was definitely awake.

I poked my head in the door and immediately saw why she hadn't answered. Kass's headphones were in and she was lip-synching to some of the punk music that she liked. Waving to catch her attention, I leaned against the wall. She glanced up, raised her eyebrows at the sight of Warren—who leaned against the doorframe and attempted to look unobtrusive—and pulled out one earbud.

Dully, she murmured, "Hey, Aimee."

"Hey." I paused. "You all right?"

"You mean, other than the fact that I almost fried the best friend I have in this place?" She chuckled, but the sound had a bitter edge. "Yeah, besides that, I'm peachy."

"It wasn't your fault, Kass," I said quickly, as my mind reeled. I'd had a whole calming speech panned out, but—_I_ was Kass's best friend? I hadn't talked to her outside of a group in…well, since I'd joined the X-Men. I winced mentally, almost missing her reply.

"…I almost took your head off. That pretty much sounds like my fault."

I met her glance. "That's not true, Kass. I'm pretty sure—"

"It is. And you believe it, or you wouldn't have Mr. Tall-Blond-and Muscley here with you."

I whirled, pointed at Warren. "You. Out."

He shook his head silently, and spoke to Kassandra while still engaging in a staring match with me. "Kass, she trusts you. I'm just overprotective."

"Oh, like that's better." She flopped on the bed and huffed. "So I'm just going to be even more of a pariah now. That's just_ great."_

"Like I wa_s trying to say,"_ I interrupted, "I'm pretty sure we've got ourselves a Jean Grey."

"_What?"_ Kassandra shot upright on the bed, which gave a labored _creak._ "Another telepath?"

"Not quite, but close enough. The point is, any kid with anger issues is a target, and especially those with offensive mutations."

She gaped. "You do realize that's, like, half the people here, right?"

I sighed. "Yeah, I know."

"How are the teachers going to keep tabs on them all?"

"They're not." I snapped. "I am."

"No freaking—"

"Which is why I need your help."

"Aimes—" Warren warned, but I plowed through his objection.

"Not just you, Kass. All the older kids. Keep an eye on each other, and the younger kids. If they're acting funny, send me their way, or to Dr. McCoy."

"That's fine, and I will–if they'll let me anywhere near them now," she added gloomily. "But Aimee, you've got to sleep sometime."

"I know that too."

"So…?"

"That's why I need you. I can't do this alone; there aren't enough hours in the day." I rubbed my temples, anticipating my likely lack of sleep.

"You're going to die of sleep deprivation."

"I'll handle it."

"Right," she scoffed, flopping back down on her bed. "Be careful, Aimee."

Touched by even that much from Kass—she wasn't an emoter—I muttered,"Yeah."

* * *

I slipped quietly out the door, Warren behind me, as she turned her back to us.

He touched my shoulder. "She'll be all right?" It was a question.

Rubbing my temples, I sighed, "She's scared, Warren. She doesn't understand what happened, not really. She puts on a brave face, but it terrifies her that someone could use her like that—and it should. Like I said in Logan's office. Emotions are how we express ourselves on a visceral level…if we aren't in control of them, we're not even animals."

"Are _you_ going to be okay?" His voice sharpened. "You sound upset."

I rubbed my temples again, this time in real pain. The inside of my nose stung from Kass's salvo, my left cheek felt cooked, and I was sore from the Danger Room that morning. "I'm just dealing with a lot of negative emotion. It makes me tired. And my face hurts. I need to find a mirror to fix my cheek."

"Yeah, I was going to tell you…" Warren rubbed the back of his neck.

I grinned, then winced at my abused cheek's protest.

"Aimes, are you sure about this? You think this is another mutant—and maybe it is. But I don't like you letting someone who just tried to take your head off take care of little kids."

"Warren, this the only thing, I think, that will help her feel better about what happened to her. She has to do _something._ She has to feel trusted here, or why should she stay? We have temper tantrums all the time. You spend time with a lot of them. If it makes you feel better, keep her in a group with one of us, but she needs a job."

He looked at me doubtfully. "You should've cleared it with Storm."

"And she's probably going to murder me for it," I responded flippantly.

"Yeah. You should at least pretend you care about the chain of command, Aimes." His reproving tone surprised me.

Chastised, I muttered, "Sorry, Warren."

"I'm not angry—not really. You're just taking too much on, Aimes. You're seventeen. Let the adults do _some_ of the work," he replied, lightness coming back into his tone.

Smiling, I said, "I'll try. Tell Storm Kass is stable, and probably just needs to be left alone. And check on Leda, I was supposed to read to her tonight. And—"

"Aimee. Stop."

I stopped, peering at him questioningly.

"Go take a breather. Grab some coffee. I saw you working on that Mutant Ethics paper last night. That plus your adrenaline downer, you're asleep on your feet. And you're probably not going to be sleeping tonight."

"Probably not. Why do we always end up like this?"

His mouth quirked. "Like what?"

"You walking me back to my room to make sure I don't pass out in the hallway."

"You need someone to take care of you," he teased.

"Oh, _thanks._"

"In a good way."

"How can that be taken in a good way? You're offending my feminist sensibilities."

He snorted, sending us both into giggles. It hadn't been that funny.

"I really…_am…_tired," I wheezed, holding my side.

He flicked open my door. "Sleep, my lady."

Turning back, I hesitated. "Somehow, I don't think the _Rocky Horror Picture Show _tomorrow…"

"Is going to work out?" He grinned helplessly. "Me either."

"I'm sorry. You should still go."

"Nah. It's one of those things you have to be in a group for."

I conceded the point with a regretful nod.

His eyes flicked back up from the ground, with a humorous light in them. His aura lightened with mischief. "Tell you what. Meet me in the game room tomorrow instead. Say ten? You can still keep a lid on the kids."

"That sounds…so great." I could feel my shoulder muscles unknotting, just in anticipation.

"I'll make milkshakes."

"You're amazing. What would I do without you?" It was a bit of a standing joke now that I was a chocoholic, especially when ice cream was involved. Warren's predilection for strawberry had led to a few tickle fights, sometimes with Bobby (vanilla) and Kitty (my partner in chocolate) joining in. We'd torn up the game room last week with about fifteen kids from the ages of seven to nineteen joining in the battle, most advocating one of the Neopolitan flavors but a few yelling gems like "PINEAPPLE!" and "_ROCKY ROAD COOKIE CRUNCH!" _ The teachers hadn't taken any official notice, but we'd all noticed the new proliferation of ice cream and milk in the freezers, and the addition of two blenders to the kitchen. And, of course, pineapple to the fruit drawer in the fridge. It was a wonder we weren't all blimps by now.

"You're a resourceful girl. I'm sure you would survive," he smirked.

I punched him lightly in the arm, then hugged him hard. He smelled like soap and feathers. "Later, Warren."

He leaned down and kissed me lightly on my non-singed cheek. "Later, Aimee."

Slipping into my room, I closed the door and leaned on it, rubbing my cheek—and the tingling wasn't from Kass's fire.

I headed for the mirror. After wrangling my new skin into place, I slipped out of my clothes—they weren't singed, but they smelled seared—and into a new pair of jeans. Reaching into my drawer, I pulled out the T-shirt Warren had mentioned earlier in the week. It was black, with "What's for dinner?" written in white on the front. Red block letters on the back spelled out MEATLOAF. It had been a sixteenth birthday present from Seth—the Picture Show had always been his thing. He'd taken me to see it the Halloween we were both fourteen, and every Halloween since.

I crossed to the window, pulling the soft T-shirt over my head. Outside, past the gardens, were three kinds of athletic fields and a basketball court. Kids were sprinting around, giggling and laughing. Ten-year-old Jace, another teleporter, had just scored a dunk using his mutation and couldn't figure out how to get down. Kylie, another Siren, and four other girls were playing tag. A whole set of the twelve-year-old boys were playing dodgeball, assisted by a lone girl. I felt so old.

I placed a hand against the window. The October air had chilled the glass, creating a foggy outline of my fingers. _This is what I'm here for. This is what we're all fighting for._ I settled into the window seat after dragging my backpack over, content to watch.


	16. New Arrivals

"With a bit of a mind flip…"

"You're into a time slip…"

"And nothing…can ever be the same." Warren's voice deepened to a Lurch-from-the-Addams-Family timbre. I snorted, poking his arm wrapped around me, almost missing the next line.

"You're spaced out on sensation—like you're under _sedation_!" I began to wriggle to the music, lying on the couch.

I raised my voice. "LET'S DO THE TIME WARP AGAIN!"

Warren's deep chuckle—the same that I'd once likened to purring—grew into a laugh."This is the strangest show."

"Says you, Lurch."

"I hoped you'd get the reference. Not many people are Addams Family fans now, because it's so old."

I leaned back against his chest. "I'm not, but Marian was, and she'd make references to them constantly. I do like Star Trek though; especially the Next Generation."

Pausing the video, he replied, "Now, I could never get into that—it just seemed too improbable."

"It's _science fiction._ It's not _supposed_ to make sense. Also, mutant with wings. Pot calling kettle black if there ever was one, don't you think?"

"You know what I meant."

"Yes. And fair enough. I just thought Wesley was hot."

"_What?"_

"Just one of the characters."

"Do I have competition?"

I snickered, sipping my milkshake. "No. He's old now, and he didn't age well."

"Ah. Well, then."

I paused. "Warren…competition implies…"

"That there's something to win? I'd hoped there was."

Flushing, I muttered, "Well, I just wanted to clarify—I mean…"

Tugging my braid, he said softly, "Just casual. I like you, Aimes, and I want to see where this'll go. All right? Don't overthink it." He twitched, stretching. "I'm going to go put this cup away. Don't restart the movie." He shuffled off after pressing a kiss to my forehead.

Leaning back into the warm spot he'd left, I pondered this more public announcement of what was going on between us. I supposed it wasn't actually new—Kitty had certainly been dropping enough obvious jokes lately; even Pete had been on it, conspicuously leaving the two of us alone whenever possible. And I'd found I didn't mind. Warren and I never ran out of things to talk about, and our topics of conversation ranged from mutant politics to the latest Enrique Iglesias hit. He'd introduced me to the mutant world. He was always there, and something told me he always would. He was just that kind of guy.

_He's…well, perfect._

Soon, Warren returned and settled back onto the couch. I wiggled back under his left arm, and the dialogue between Magenta and Riff Raff continued.

* * *

"Not bad, kid. You've plateaued, but it's a good speed. You can push it back to once a day if you want," Logan said, thumbing his stopwatch. I stood with my hands on my hips, breathing hard—though not as hard as I usually did.

"Thanks, Logan. Maybe I will," I replied, rubbing my eyelids. They were gritty with sleep all the time now; even with the others' help, I was running on little to no sleep. The others had mentioned it was messing with my moods, making me crankier and a bit moody.

"Awright. Let's head to the Danger Room."

I slid through the round metal door into chaos. Warren streaked across the ceiling, the floor was a slick, icy hazard, and you could barely see for smoke. Dropping to the ground, I slid on my knees to a better position, a smoking pile of mortar and bricks that didn't look too likely to fall.

The smoke was from a simulated pyro, and the ice was presumably from a Bobby salvo gone wrong. It was melting all over the smooth metal floor, making it even more treacherous. I frantically looked around; I couldn't feel simulations with my powers, and it hurt just as much if I got nailed by one. I dodged a falling brick by only a little—apparently the bricks hadn't been as stable as I'd thought-then moved to a quasi-lean-to of steel beams.

_"AAAAGH!" _Kitty's scream of pain echoed across the Danger Room. I moved towards the sound, calling to Pete, "Colossus, to Shadowcat!" I would need someone to watch my back if Kitty was hurt, and he was generally designated my bodyguard when I was healing someone.

I reached Kitty a few minutes later, having avoided three John Allerdyces, a Sabertooth, and Storm, who was on the "other" side for this exercise. Kitty lay on her side, left knee pinned under a beam. Her eyes, like my own, were red from smoke, and her face was twisted in pain. Bobby stood near her, both hands out protectively.

"Bobby, I got her. Go get your workout."

He shot me a grateful look and bounded off. I hated free-for-all scenarios; they resulted in more injuries than pitched battles and disgruntled participants. While I understood their usefulness, I still hated them.

I heard a clank and whirled, steeling myself to use my offensive powers if necessary; my control had gotten better in that I could now use them without puking, though it still hurt. Thankfully, it was only Colossus. Together, we lifted the beam from her legs and tossed it away. He turned to watch my back as I worked to fix Kitty's knee.

Even without my powers, I knew it was bad. Kitty was brave, and she wasn't showing much emotion, but joints weren't supposed to bend like that. Kitty's eyes were closed now, and she was doing an admirable job of not hyperventilating.

Without warning, I seized her calf below the injury and yanked. With a loud _pop_ and a cry from Kitty, the leg pulled straight. I placed my fingers lightly on the injured knee and fell into her pain.

She'd torn her ACL badly, and crushed the kneecap. _This is why I hate these exercises. _Blocking the pain receptors and soothing the inflamed, stressed ligaments, I carefully encouraged the split ACL to grow back together. The kneecap was harder and both would need more attention, but I stabilized it and gestured for Colossus to pick her up. Almost as he did so, the lights of the Danger Room began returning to normal and the holograms vanished.

"Is she all right?"

Bobby hurried up, standing next to Colossus.

"She'll be okay, Bobby. She's fine for now."

"What happened?" Beast joined the conversation and took Kitty off Colossus's hands.

"Torn ACL and crushed kneecap. She's doped right now," I called at his back as he strode off, referring to my blockage of her pain receptors. The back of his head bobbed, letting me know he'd heard me. Bobby watched him go, then turned worried blue eyes on me.

"How bad is it, really?"

"What, you think she'd lie, Bobby?" Warren had apparently strode up behind me; it said something about how comfortable I was with him that I hadn't noticed.

"W-well, no, but—"

I held up a hand, stopping Bobby from stammering like a nervous fourteen-year-old on his first date. "She _will _be fine. She will not, however, be moving much for the next couple of weeks. Healing it quickly makes it a little unstable, and if possible, it's better to let the body proceed at its own pace. But," I repeated wryly, "she will be fine."

I heard Warren exhale behind me, and some of the too-bright alarm drained from Bobby's aura. Logan strode up, took a look at the three of us, and rolled his eyes. "You guys all right?" he barked.

We all replied with some variation on a theme of "fine". Scratching his temple, Logan groused, "But now we're one short for our teams. And with Kurt gone on that blasted pilgrimage—"

"Excellent timing, then, for our reinforcements."

All three of us turned as Storm entered, heels clicking on the cold metal floor. Behind her was a girl a little taller and older than me, in biker boots, cargo pants, and a black T-shirt. Her aura had a curious implosive quality—like I imagined a black hole would be. Swirling with barely controllable forces but not allowing anything out. Behind me, I could feel Bobby grow nervous, then angry.

"Rogue!" Logan's voice was happier than I'd ever heard it. "What're you doing here, girl?"

"Storm called in a favor," she answered, in a thick Georgia drawl."Just till whatever issues ya got goin' on are done."

"Of course. Aimee," he finished, "This is Rogue."

I wiped one of my sooty hands on my leg and held it out, feeling curiously hostile to this new arrival.

She smiled embarrassedly. "Um…I better not. My mutation sucks out life forces, and I'd rather not put ya on the ground right now. You'll need your strength."

I felt my cheeks flush hot. "Oh. Sorry," I replied, with a bit of an edge. _Why don't I like her?_

"Not a problem."

"Rogue," Storm interjected into the growing tension, "Let's get you settled in."

Rogue acquiesced, and Storm led her away, glaring at me to be nice. I watched them go, then turned away with a snort. "Who's she?"

"Whoa, tiger," Warren murmured behind me, after coughing to hide a chuckle. "Rogue's not bad."

"I haven't seen Logan that happy…well, ever." The slight wistfulness in my voice surprised even me. Logan was a friend—a good friend, to be sure, but why should I care who he was most glad to see? Dratted logic. Obviously I was running on too little sleep.

"Why is she here? Why _now?" _Bobby snarled.

Warren replied gently, "She's a mutant, Bobby. As such, she's allowed to be here."

"But she _left, _and her being here will upset Kitty."

"What? Why?"

Warren coughed. I drilled him with my eyes, then focused on Bobby. _"What?"_

"You know the girlfriend I mentioned when we first met?"

"You mean, the one that took the Cure?"

"…yeah."

"Sure. What—" _Ooooooohhh. Well, slap me and call me Mama._

Bobby grimaced.

"That girlfriend was Rogue."

* * *

"This is nuts."

"Right."

"I can't wrap my head around this."

"People break up all the time."

"I know, but…" I rubbed my forehead. "Bobby and Kitty are…well, they're made for each other. It blows my mind that there was anything before them. I mean, I _know _there was, but…"

Warren shrugged. "I guess."

"I mean…really."

"You've been talking about this for the past ten minutes."

"And she_ sucks life forces?"_

"_Yes,_ Aimes," he answered again, voice caught between exasperation and amusement.

"This is nuts."

"That's what Storm said when a certain empath from Houston woke up."

"Not true. She doesn't say that sort of thing."

"You know what I meant."

"Besides, this is different."

"How?"

"I hate it when you're logical."

"I aim to please."

"How are we going to tell Kitty?"

Shuddering, Warren replied, "I'll leave that minefield to the boyfriend, thank you very much. Kitty and Rogue used to be good friends, before…"

"Before what?"

"Bobby and Rogue weren't exactly all the way broken up when Bobby and Kitty started going out."

Whistling, I murmured, "That'll do it."

"Yeah."

Our walkie-talkies buzzed simultaneously, with a terse command from Storm to meet in her office.

Walking into Storm's office, I mused that while it was the epitome of elegance, it really wasn't Storm. The classic oils and mahogany panels were beautiful, but Storm was more a Picasso and (tasteful) chrome type. Logan was leaning over Storm's carved-wood desk, fists clenched, and the anger boiling off him nearly scalded my face. Storm stared back at him implacably, and Rogue was leaning against the wall, in a carefully disinterested pose except for her apparent fascination with the Oriental carpet.

"It's unethical."

"Not if she agrees. Not letting her sleep is unethical."

_What? Sleep? That sounds nice…_

"What's unethical?"

They both looked up and began to speak.

"Aimee—"

"Kid—"

"You're runnin' low on sleep, I hear." Rogue's eyes flicked up from the carpet.

"A little. I don't mind," I replied defensively.

"What's got Logan hissin' like a angry mama rattlesnake is that I can absorb powers as well as life forces," she sighed. "Storm wants me to let you sleep by me doing what you do for short time periods so's you don't haveta do it twenty-four/seven."

_She wants to what now?_

Part of that must have come out in something resembling a question, because Storm clarified.

"We want Rogue to take your powers."


	17. In Milkshake, Veritas

"_What?"_

"Not permanently!" Storm clarified hastily.

This sentiment was vehemently echoed by Rogue. "If half of what Storm tells me is true, I wouldn't touch your powers with a ten foot pole otherwise, honest," she muttered. "Sounds like a big pain in the ass."

"Rogue," Storm reproached.

"I mean, knowin' what people're thinkin' all the time—just ain't right."

"Storm, you _can't _do this. She's just a kid," Logan snarled.

"Really? Seems to me you quite adamant that she wasn't, when we were discussing her ability to join the team." Storm's voice was dry. "You can't have it both ways, Logan."

"_Stop!" _I rubbed my temples. "At the end of the day, it's my decision. Not yours, Storm's, or yours, Logan's, or _anyone else's._" My voice rose._"_My powers, my sleep, _my decision!"_

Silence reigned, except for my breathing and the calling of children in the dining room, directly beneath us. I could feel Warren's eyes drilling into my back. Logan stared at me, slightly slackjawed. Storm's jaw was tight, her aura furious. Rogue, for her part, remained silent, and her eyes rested on me with a new appreciation.

"Aimee." Storm's aura was alight with anger at my challenge, belying the forced calm in her voice. "This is for your own good. We need all of our team members in peak condition. This is to help you."

"I know. Believe me, I know," I sighed, squeezing my eyes shut. My eyes were crusty from lack of sleep, and it was too bright. _And the worst part is? I do know. _

"But this is personal. You're asking me to give up my powers."

"Not—"

"Let me finish!"

She subsided.

"Can you honestly tell me you'd give up your lightning, leaving you completely vulnerable? Even temporarily?" I raised my eyes to hers, green to burnished gray.

Her chin lifted unconsciously, rising to the challenge in my own eyes. "If it was for my own good, and the good of my team, then yes." It cost her to say it, and I wasn't sure if I believed her, but she did her best to answer honestly.

"Kid. You don't have to do this," Logan growled.

"I'm just trying to help, girlie," Rogue murmured, still against the wall. Her black-hole aura pulsed with an oddly comforting air.

Sighing, I pinched the bridge of my nose. "What will happen?"

"Probably, you'll be on the floor and I'll have major troubles controlling it, the first time."

I closed my eyes. "Not comforting."

"No."

"Don't worry, Aimes," Warren murmured. "I've got your back."

Glancing up at him, I replied "I know."

"Let's get this show on the road, then," Rogue said brusquely. Pushing away from the wall, she padded towards me and extended her hands.

I stared at them for a long moment. _Funny,_ I mused, _that I'm so protective of my powers, after being so eager to get rid of them. _While the thought entertained me in a morbid sort of way, it didn't make me feel any better about taking Rogue's hands.

_Powers…sleep…powers…sleep…_ my mental scale wobbled before finally coming to rest firmly on the hibernation side of the equation. Before anything else could disturb it, I reached forward and grabbed Rogue's hands.

I immediately felt a curious pulling sensation, as though my essence was being pulled out my palms. Interestingly, it wasn't such a different feeling from what I did to heal, though its external catalyst left me with a curious empty feeling and a touch of nausea. As the draining sensation continued, I felt my eyes droop. The room around me dulled, I felt arms around me, and I finally fell into a blissful sleep.

Xxxx

"_Yoo-hoo. Rise and shine, sleeping beauty…"_

I grunted at the disembodied voice that wound its way through my dream. Bobby was dancing with woodchucks and had been singing the hamster song, but now this annoying, responsible voice was issuing from his puppet mouth.

"_Aimes!"_

"Huh? What? Bobby? Woodchucks…"

"No, it's just me. Sorry to disappoint you. What about woodchucks?" Kitty enquired, leaving off her incessant poking of my shoulder.

"Nothing. How long have I been out?"

"About fourteen hours. Rogue hates you, by the way."

"Why?"

"Because she's had to break up three fights, and someone told Leda that you weren't to be disturbed and also that Rogue had your powers."

"_What?"_ I said, shocked. Leda was an air walker we'd helped on my very first mission, and she'd grown very attached to me. I felt suddenly guilty – she still had difficulty sleeping if I didn't say good night to her, and I'd completely forgotten in all the furor. "What happened?"

"She's protective of you. She launched herself at Rogue's head before Warren was able to explain. He's with her now."

"Oh. Maybe I should go talk to her."

"No need, I think she gets it now," she replied, as voices grew louder outside my door. It slammed open with a _BANG._

"Where is she? 'Cause I'm not taking these powers again, ever. Knowing what everybody's thinking all the time, it's enough to drive a body plumb crazy!"

"Good morning, Rogue," I returned wryly, rubbing my eyes. "Some issues, I heard?"

She instantly sobered, saying, "Someone's watching this place like a hawk, or else you've got a mole–because as soon as Logan carried you out of Storm's office, I had altercations on my hands. How do you handle all the emotions coming at once? How do you _sleep, _let alone fight?" she demanded.

I winced. "Sorry! I should have given you a rundown—the answer is, I don't."

"Well you couldn't have bloomin' TOLD me that before you went all Princess Aurora on me?"

"I didn't exactly think it through. I was afraid that if I did, I'd say no."

"Fair enough. But you're telling me how to handle it, now."

I frowned, testing out my sixth sense. "Do you still have my powers? Mine are back."

"No, they wore off about an hour ago. That's why Storm asked…us to wake you up," Kitty murmured from my right. Casting a quick glance at Rogue, she returned to picking at my bedspread. Rogue plowed on if she hadn't spoken.

"No, but for when I do this again. Storm said we should pull twelve-hour shifts, and you're off regular classes, by the way. 'Til this is over, you're gonna have to stick with whatever online mojo you do," Rogue sniffed. I had been taking some college courses in things Xavier's didn't offer, like math past statistics and some medical theory. Though I hadn't given it much thought before my mutation had set in, it seemed natural now that I would be a doctor. In an attempt to stay at Xavier's as long as possible, I was taking as many courses as I could online..

"Tell Storm thanks."

"Will do.I ain't got much to do, so you're gonna be on day shift. I figure eight-to-eight."

"Sounds good, Rogue. Do you want to work on controlling the powers now, or later?"

"May as well get it over with," she huffed, crossing the room to plunk down on my bed. She continued to ignore Kitty, who muttered a good-bye and stood to leave. I sensed her discomfort and some anger as she headed for the door.

Refusing to let her leave like that, I hastened to call, "Thanks for waking me up, Kit. See you at lunch?"

"Yeah. At lunch," she tossed back over her shoulder as she left.

I shifted on the bed to better face Rogue. "So…what did you have the most trouble with?"

She stared at the open doorway from which Kitty had exited.

"Rogue?"

"Oh. Right," she replied, slightly shamefaced. "…All the conflicting feelings, I guess. They all started to blur together till I couldn't tell what was coming from who."

"I remember. It's easiest if you start equating people with something. I use colors. Like, Warren is light blue, Storm is gray, I'm green. It helps to keep track of what emotion's coming from which person. Emotions are colors, too, but generally good emotions, like happiness, complement the auras, whereas bad ones clash."

Her eyes lit up. "Yeah! And Logan is brown, and Pete's gray too, but a more shiny gray."

"Exactly. I think of the emotional connections as channels that I can dam up if I need to. So at any given moment, other people's colors are flowing into me, but I can block them off if I want."

Her brow scrunched. "Like ropes?"

"You can think of it that way too. Think about paring them down to a really thin thread."

Her brow furrowed more. "Hey, Aimee?"

"Yes?" Her aura had abruptly gone from excited to almost pensive.

"What color am I?"

I hesitated. "You're…black and swirly. Like a black hole, with bits of rainbow on the edges."

She laughed, a harsh sound. "I guess that makes sense."

I paused again, looking for the right words. "Everyone's different, Rogue, and mutants' auras usually have something to do with their personalities—sometimes they pulse, or flicker. No aura is 'better' than another."

"Yeah, that's what they said about my mutation, too."

"They were right," I replied lamely.

"Except it isn't true. Uh..can I tell you something?"

I agreed, wary.

"When I take your powers…or anyone else's…I get a high. It's this huge excitement, better than any drug I've had," she muttered. "But yours are better regulated than a lot of mutants'. Like, I could feel if I hurt anyone's feelings, too. It makes you more careful."

I grinned. "I didn't start out this mellow and quiet, let me tell you. I used to be flip all the time, but I can't now because I have to keep track of how it'll affect other people. Sarcasm isn't nearly as much fun now."

"I bet it isn't." She stood. "I think I'll be okay. Thanks, Levine."

"Anytime."

As she reached the door, she turned. "Hey—"

I cocked my head expectantly.

"I meant what I said about your powers being better regulated. It's like…you're better evolved than the rest of us."

Thinking about that for a moment, I replied, "I never really thought about it before, but Logan was surprised by the checks and balances on my powers when they first manifested."

"Have you considered getting genetic testing, seeing who your parents really were?"

I shook my head. "No. There's no telling whether they'd be in the system; most mutations aren't hereditary, though some are, like the feral mutations. Dr. McCoy's done a lot of research into the subject. But since I have no idea, I could be anything from the illegitimate kid of trailer trash to a test tube baby. I really don't know."

"I guess not. Well, see you."

I watched her go and shook my head. I hadn't told her anything she didn't already know, not about herself at least. I didn't really understand why people equated me with free therapy, but in my unofficial capacity I'd been a shoulder to cry on and a wall to yell at more times than I cared to count in my time at Xavier's.

I stood and changed into another T-shirt, then wandered out into the hallway. My feet took me to the kitchen, as I hadn't eaten in more than sixteen hours.

Kitty sat at the marble countertop, nursing an energy drink.

_Well, as long as I'm in therapist mode…_

I crossed the kitchen, plucked the can out from under her nose, and tossed it.

"Hey!"

"You need comfort food," I replied, crossing to the freezer. "Rogue isn't going away, and she might be a bit cool, as I can practically see you screaming any time you're around her, but I'm going to be spending time with her. I've heard a neutral party's version, now I want to hear yours," I finished.

She frowned. "She completely ignored me. It was like I wasn't there."

"Her ex cheated on her with you."

"Did not!"

"Really?" Her eyes met mine.

"That's what I need to know, because I think you all have some issues to work out. This place can't afford any more feuds for this weirdo mutant to exploit." I opened the freezer.

"Milkshake?"


	18. Revelations

_Thwang!_

I let out a frustrated yell as the ball rebounded off the goalpost and into the other team's possession.

"Over here, Leeds!" Warren called, and promptly received a pass from Leda. He turned and raised his eyebrows in a challenge I couldn't pass up. I sped my steps, feet crunching in the dry grass.

"You're going down, Warren! She means business, this time!" I heard Kassandra yell. Warren laughed, kicked the ball out in front of him, and headed down the lawn, his feet making _crunch-crunch_ noises to go along with the _hiss_ of the ball along the ground.

I pushed my feet still faster, but his legs were longer, and the distance between us wasn't closing nearly as fast as I'd like. I sped up again, swerving behind him.

He glanced behind him and did a slight double take when he didn't see me on his tail. His steps faltered slightly; all I needed to take his legs out from under him. He flew, comically, into the air, landing with a thump on his back.

I straightened from my slide-tackle, laughed breathlessly, and kicked the ball back towards Jimmy. He rebounded it, skillful for an eight-year-old, and sent it past Kitty's outstretched hand into the net.

"_Woot! _I got it, I got it!" Jimmy did a lap around the field, returned to his spot, and began an impromptu victory dance.

"You sure did, tiger!" I returned. "But that's enough for today. It's almost time for dinner," I said, "Let's go inside."

There were some good-natured objections, but Kassandra and Kitty were able to herd the group of six-to-twelve-year-olds back towards the main buildings. I started to follow, then turned, confused. Where was Warren?

I turned to see him lying where I'd tackled him, eyes closed. My stomach contracted into a cold knot, and I sprinted for him. "Warren!" There was no pain, but…

His eyes flicked open as I ran up, and he lunged.

I went down with a shriek, and the parched grass exuded a puff of pollen where I fell. Warren's hands were at my sides, my neck, my armpits, tickling until I was wiggling helplessly. "Warren!"

"I'll get you for that," he snarled, grinning. "You don't slide-tackle the master."

I snickered, "Seems like I just did."

"Vengeance will be mine!" His fingers stilled as our pockets vibrated simultaneously.

He rolled off me as we reached for our walkie-talkies, which were softly but sternly repeating, _"X-Men to hangar. X-men to hangar."_

I held the receiver up and responded, "This is Aimee. I'm on my way." I heard Warren next to me, doing the same.

I set off at a fast jog for the main complex, and heard Warren launch into the air behind me. As he passed over my head, I yelled, "Show-off!"

His laughter floated back to me as he passed. "See you there. Run fast!"

* * *

"Stupid _feathered_ boys, with stupid _wings_, and their stupid _egos_ that are a throwback to five-year-olds' _stupid _playground races…"

"Somehow I think you loved the playground races."

I jumped; for all my powers, I hadn't noticed Kitty come up behind me. "Beside the point. I mean, he could have given me a ride. I'm his girlfriend."

_Girlfriend, girlfriend…_ that was still turning over in my brain, for all it was a month old. But I had to admit, it sounded nice.

"But that wouldn't have been nearly as much fun," Warren replied, slipping through the sliding metal door.

I held up a hand. "Don't talk to me. I'm mad at you right now. You're a…_Warren!"_

I turned too late to avoid his grab, and he slung me onto his shoulder. I pounded on his impassive leather-clad back. "Put me down. _Now."_

"No."

"All right, kiddos, playtime's over," Logan growled, striding past us onto the plane. Roiling anger and tightly leashed aggression rolled off him. Warren set me carefully on the ground, and the three of us followed him quietly onto the plane.

"_All right, people." _Storm's voice came quietly over the loudspeakers. _"Doesn't look like much, just a few kids running around north Maine torching things. Looks like a trio of pyros," _she continued. _"However, they're pretty powerful. From the ruckus they're making, they're new and don't have a lot of control. There's a ten-mile radius of burning trees. You know what to do." _The intercom clicked off. Storm had stopped coming with us as much, preferring to hold down the fort here at home.

I leaned back in my seat. "Then why did she call all of us?" I murmured. The jet was filled to capacity, with all of its seats filled—except, of course, for Kurt's. He was in his corner, murmuring prayers. "That's really strange. Eight against three, that's not even fun."

"Seven. You're not supposed to fight," Kitty volleyed back.

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, like _that's _gonna happen. I'll go find myself a nice tree with a bucket of popcorn, why don't I?"

"Except with my luck, my knee will give out and I'll be a crispy critter, and I'll need you to re-grow my epidermis."

"That's just a lovely image, really. Thank you so much for that. I'm going to try to chill now, and get that image out of my head."

"Good luck," snickered Warren, and silence, punctuated only by Kurt's murmuring, pervaded the cabin – at least for a few minutes.

With a soft _whumph, _the jet landed in a stand of burned-out trees. The scent of crisped pine sap assaulted my nose as I stepped off the jet. Looking to the west, I saw tongues of fire above the canopy.

"Logan! West!" I set off at a run, as Warren launched into the sky.

The smell got stronger as I approached, the site, if that was possible. I heard a yell, and the crackling of seared air. Slowing, I began to zigzag from tree to tree, making myself a more difficult target. I crouched and inched the last few meters into the scorched clearing. Smoke was everywhere, and emotions were all over the place. I could detect two gleeful presences—two of the pyros, I assumed—and even with the decreased visibility, I was able to pick out almost every one of my team. But there were other presences, hidden in the woods, on the other side—

I screamed. "LOGAN! AMBUSH!"

Sudden relief, not panic as I would have assumed, bombarded me from the pyros. The clearing exploded with bodies – bodies with regimented, clear-cut emotions. These new arrivals had no emotional attachment to what was going on, and the only group I could think of with such overall regimented detachment—both physically and emotionally—was the military.

_What is going on?_

I recklessly plunged into the fray, screaming and trying to get to Logan. I didn't know what the soldiers were here for, but my instincts told me that they were not here to help us. The pyros' lack of panic just cemented my certainty.

As the smoke cleared, I took my place in a ring of X-men without even thinking about it. Before I'd come to Xavier's, I had trusted the government; now, knowing horror stories like Logan's, Kurt's, and Dr. Xavier's, I knew who I was standing with, and it wasn't the government.

I dropped my hands to a low-guard stance, in a loose circle with Logan and Warren on either side. Warren gripped my arm with one hand and spread his wings menacingly. The air crackled with Storm's lightning and the air grew icy with Bobby's chill.

"_Stand down! All mutants, stand down! You are surrounded. We are armed with darts containing the Cure. We will shoot. Stand down. US Army."_

My heart contracted into a hard, cold, little ball as it fell deep into my stomach.

"Listen to them, everyone." Storm's voice floated over the clearing. "It's over."

Logan snarled in response. "Never."

I turned and grabbed his arm, spinning him to face me. I placed my hands on either side of his face, ignoring the metallic voice of the loudspeaker. If Logan went feral, there were no guarantees for any of us. _"Logan."_

His eyes met mine with no recognition. His claws slid in and out of their sheaths, with a soft but horrible _snick, snick, snick. _I grabbed his ears and pulled his face closer.

"Logan. Come back. It's me, Aimee."

Something flickered in his aura. Not full recognition—not of me personally, anyway—but an acceptance that what I was saying was worth listening to.

Or so I thought. That flicker grew, morphed, into something that _was_ recognition—but not of me, Aimee, protégé and occasional pain in the butt. This was something more primal.

"Cub."


	19. Caught

They took us to a service road lined with Hummers, and dispassionately lined us up, never touching us and saying nothing; we were directed in with hand gestures. Logan's claws were still sliding in and out, with the same awful _snick, snick, snick _sound, but it at least kept the soldiers at a respectful distance. I stayed glued to Logan's side, though his awareness was growing, beginning to force his feral side into dormancy; Bobby stayed on his other side, hand braced on his shoulder. Warren hovered at my right shoulder, wings rustling fretfully, but said nothing.

As we stumbled along, I sensed a gamut of emotions around me. Kurt moved up next to me, matching his slightly longer strides to mine. I could feel his fear, as well as resolution. He leaned until his lips almost brushed my ear. I heard one of the soldiers yell, and Kurt lurched as another grabbed him, but he murmured, "I'll be back, _der Kampfgefährte_."With a _whumph,_ he vanished.

The soldiers' emotions exploded. One of the female soldiers—not the leader of the operation, but more than a menial-strode towards Logan and began yelling, gesturing. I saw him turn flat eyes on her gesticulating face and I shoved the woman away, onto the rocky ground, then turned and grabbed Logan's hand, digging my short nails into the back of his palm.

"Don't rise, Logan. _Don't rise."_

His eyes stayed flat, and his claws kept up their morbid rhythm, but he made no move towards the idiot woman, who stood with a huff and bellowed at Warren.

"Where is he?"

Warren leveled a glance at me, inviting me to take the lead. My stomach dropped to my feet; I knew that I was most likely best suited to be a liaison to these people, but I didn't _want _to touch these horrible people. However, there was no time for squeamishness, and I knew it. I squared my shoulders and cut her off in midsentence. "He's a teleporter. Did you think that we wouldn't have a single mover? I'm sure that you've got piles of files on us, and that some scientist has told you that mutations having to do with physical enhancement make up over seventy percent of the mutant popula—"

"Shut up," she snarled, and stalked away, barking orders.

The soldiers herded us into one of the Hummers, and I was squished between Logan's massive form and Warren's wings; two soldiers climbed in behind us and the engine roared to life.

I started. "Where's Ki—Shadowcat? Iceman? Colossus!"

I twisted painfully, trying to see out the back window. Warren shifted, trying to allow me room, but grunted as I pressed down on his feathers. I caught a glimpse of black leather vanishing into the Hummer behind us. The soldiers sat opposite us, but kept their dark glasses on even in the darkness of the Hum-Vee. It made them look uncomfortably robotic, and their careful detachment didn't help matters.

Wait…

That wasn't detachment.

I couldn't feel them.

There was _nothing._

_Nothing._

They may as well have been dead.

My breathing sped up and I reached frantically for the familiar emotions of Logan and Warren on either side of me. A tiny part of my brain mused on the irony that it hadn't been the pyros, the soldiers, or Logan's losing it that had scared me the most; instead, it had been the loss of a sixth sense most people couldn't dream of. But for me it was like losing an arm or a leg. My lightheadedness eased as I felt Warren's steady blueness next to me, pulsing with concern that matched what was in his eyes. He put a hand on top of mine and stroked my shoulder as he murmured, "What's wrong, Aimee?"

I kept my voice low. "I can't feel them, Warren. Any of them."

I felt his surprise. "What?"

"Quiet, both of you," the soldier on the left said. His voice wasn't ugly or aggressive. It was quiet, polite, but completely implacable; somehow that was more frightening than anger. Loss of powers or not, I knew this man would have no compunction in keeping us in line—by whatever means necessary.

I placed my other hand on top of Warren's, squeezed hard, and buried my head against his shoulder. We passed the rest of the bumpy ride in a tense silence that exacerbated that awful _nothingness_ in front of me.

* * *

After what seemed an eternity filled with the nagging awareness of something _missing_, the vehicle lumbered to a halt. Looking through the dusty bulletproof glass, I saw that we were outside a hulking cement monolith, only occasionally punctuated by narrow windows that reminded me of arrow slits. Surrounded by barbed wire, towers topped by soldiers with M-14s at rigid attention, and illuminated by too-bright floodlights that chased away shadows even in the uncertain predusk light, it was equally suited as a fortress or a prison.

As we were bundled out of the truck, my slippery fingers almost lost their grip on Warren's. But he squeezed tight, interlacing our fingers, and awkwardly maneuvered out the small door, never letting go of my hand. Though I knew it meant little—the soldiers could pull us apart whenever they chose—I drew a kind of strength from him and straightened my spine. Thankfully, my powers were returning—I still felt a curious fuzziness about most of the soldiers, but only the task force that had picked us up remained impenetrable. Them and a suite of men and women in drab black suits, silhouetted by the setting sun atop a flight of cement steps.

Kitty, Bobby, and Pete exited the next Hummer, and automatically gravitated towards us. The soldiers were yelling commands, with lots of "Alphas" and "Bravo-Charlies", and began to move in tight formation around us. We were shuffled forward. We didn't enter the dark-glass front doors—_what, _I thought sardonically, _are we not good enough to meet Mama through the front door?—_but were instead led to a much larger, less welcoming—if that was possible—building. It was a windowless cement hulk with steel double doors that looked like a cross between a janitor's entrance and a bank vault. It was marked simply, CONTAINMENT.

As we moved through the doors, a brightly lit hallway stretched in myriad different directions. I was shoved to the right, and Warren left, stretching our arms to the breaking point. He grunted.

"What's going—_Aimes!"_

The soldiers said nothing.

I was shoved impersonally into a small steel cell after passing a few dozen small but thick-looking doors. The walls were completely smooth and dull, with no rivets or seams to break the monotony, and the hinges were on the opposite side of the door. When the door swung shut with a bang, it blended almost seamlessly with the wall, leaving me with the illusion that I was in a tiny mirrored cube. I could see dull reflections of black and brown—my suit and hair—that, though dull, were magnified a hundred, a thousand times as they bounced around the tiny room. My eyes hurt to look at them in the cold white light of fluorescent bulbs, so I closed them. My vision was still an uncomfortable red, but it was better than glaring whiteness, and the reflections that made the already small room seem uncomfortably close. I leaned against the wall and sank to the floor, wrapping my arms around my knees. My head itched where the sweat from this afternoon's soccer game—had it really only been this afternoon? had dried, and the cold metal felt good on the back of my head.

Strangely, the only thing that came to mind was an obscure _Firefly _reference, from when one of the villains is jettisoned into space. They were the last words spoken in the series. At the time, I'd thought it an odd thing to say, when he was about to die a horrible death in the vacuum of space; but it seemed to make sense now.

_Well, here I am._

_Here I am._

_Here I—_

A soft hissing was my only warning before my stained-red vision faded to blackness.

* * *

_der Kampfergefahrte-_comrade-in-arms


End file.
